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THE STORIES OF THE AGES. 


Tales from the Gesta Romanorum. 
Headlong Hall and Nightmare Abbey. 

BY Thomas Love Peacock. 
Cranford, by Mrs. Gaskell. 

Tales by Heinrich Zschokke. 

The Rose and the Ring. 

BY W. M. Thackeray. 
Undine and Sintram. by Fouque. 


Ct. P. PUTNAM’S SONS 

NEW YORK AND LONDON 




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CONTENTS. 


UNDINE) I 

I. How the Knight Came to the Fisherman’s 

Cottage I 

II. How Undine First Came to the Fisherman 12 

III. How They Found Undine Again ... 22 

IV. Of What Had Befallen the Knight in the 

Forest 29 

V. Of the Life Which the Knight Bed on the 

Island 39 

VI. Of a Bridal 47 

VII. How the Rest of the Evening Passed Away 56 

VIII. The Day After the Marriage .... 61 

IX. How the Knight and His Young Bride De- 


parted 70 

X. Of Their Way of Eife in the Town . . 79 

XI. Bertalda’s Birthday 85 

XII. How They Deft the Imperial City . . 94 

XIII. How They Dived in the Castle of Ring- 

stetten 101 

XIV. How Bertalda Drove Home With the 

Knight 1 13 


>y 


VI 


contents 


XV. The Trip to Vienna 125 

XVI. Of What Befell Huldbrand Afterwards . 135 

XVII. The Knig-ht’s Dream 142 

XVIII. Of the Knight Huldbrand’s Second Bridal 146 
XIX. How the Knight Huldbrand Was Interred 154 

SINTRAM AND HIS COMPANIONS . . .159 



UNDINE 


.1 





UNDINE 

CHAPTER I. 

HOW THE KNIGHT CAME TO THE FISHERMAN. 

M any a hundred years may now have 
passed since a good old fisherman sate 
one fair evening before his door and mended 
his nets. He dwelt in a very beautiful spot. 
The grassy land on which his cottage was built 
extended far out into a great lake ; and it 
seemed as if, out of love, this slip of ground 
stretched itself into the clear, blue, and won- 


2 


'Qn^fne 


derfully bright waters, and also as if the waters, 
with loving arms, clasped the fair meadows with 
their high-waving grass and flowers, and the re- 
freshing shade of the trees. Yet was this pleas- 
ant place seldom or never trodden by any but the 
fisherman and his household : for behind the slip 
of land lay a very wild wood, which, on account 
of its gloom and impassable ways, and of the 
strange beings and spectres which were met in 
it, most men dreaded too much to enter with- 
out necessity. The pious old fisherman had 
truly passed through it many times without 
molestation, when he carried the choice fish 
which he caught off his fair peninsula to a town 
which lay not far beyond the great wood. It 
was commonly thus easy for him to go through 
the forest, because he cherished wellnigh none 
but holy thoughts ; and besides, each time that 
he entered the dreaded shades he was wont to 
sing a hymn, with a clear voice and an honest 
heart. 

As now on this evening he was sitting in his 
guilelessness beside his nets, there yet came 
upon him an unexpected terror ; for he heard 


'QlnDine 


3 


in the darkness of the wood a rustling as of 
man and horse, and the noise drew near and 
more near to the peninsula. Then that which 
he had dreamt on many a stormy night of 
the mysteries of the forest rushed into his 
mind, and chiefly the image of a gigantic snow- 
white man, who after a strange fashion in- 
cessantly nodded his head. Yea, as he raised 
his eyes towards the woods, it seemed as though 
he saw the nodding man issue forth from the 
leafy screen. But soon he reflected that noth- 
ing had ever befallen him in the wood itself, 
and that on the open land the evil spirits 
could still less have any power over him. At 
the same time he repeated fervently from his 
heart a verse of the Bible, whereby his good 
courage came back to him, and the white nod- 
ding man became suddenly a well-known 
stream, which ran bubbling out of the forest 
and fell into the lake ; and the rustling noise 
had been caused by a gaily-attired knight, who 
came forth on horseback from the shades of the 
forest, and rode towards the cottage. A scarlet 
mantle hung over his violet doublet, embroid- 


4 


•dnOine 


ered with gold ; red and violet feathers floated 
in his golden-colored cap, and a rarely-beautiful 
and richly-worked sword glittered from his gold- 
en belt. The white horse which bore the knight 
was more slender than chargers are wont to be, 
and trod lightly over the grass. 'Vhe old fisher- 
man’s mind was not quite at ease, although he 
deemed that no evil could befall him from so 
bright an apparition, so he courteously took off 
his cap to the approaching stranger, and re- 
mained quietly by his nets. Then the knight 
stopped, and asked whether he and his horse 
could here find shelter and food for a night. 

“As regards your horse, dear sir,” answered 
the fisherman, “ I can show him no better 
stable than this shady meadow, and no better 
fodder than the grass which grows thereon ; 
but for yourself, I will gladly provide you with 
lodging for the night and the half of my sup- 
per.” The stranger seemed quite content ; he 
dismounted, and they helped each other to take 
off the horse’s bridle and saddle, after which 
the knight let him graze on the flowery past- 
ure, saying to his host : “ Even if I had found 


'dn&inc 


5 


you less kind and hospitable, my good old man, 
you must have borne with me till to-morrow ; 
for I see we are shut in by a wide lake, and 
Heaven forbid that I should cross the haunted 
forest at nightfall ! ” 

“We will not say much about that,” replied 
the fisherman ; and he led the guest into the 
cottage. 

There, close by the hearth, whence a scanty 
fire shed its glimmering light over the clean 
little room, sat the fisherman’s old wife. When 
their noble guest came in, she rose to give him 
a kind welcome, but immediately resumed her 
place of honor, without offering it to him ; and 
the fisherman said with a smile : “Do not take 
it amiss, young sir, if she does not give up to 
you the most comfortable place ; it is the cus- 
tom among us poor people, that it should al- 
ways belong to the oldest.” 

“Why, husband!” said his wife quietly, 
‘ ‘ what are you thinking of ? Our guest is surely 
a Christian gentleman, and how could it come 
into his kind young heart to turn old people 
out of their places ? Sit down, my young lord,” 


6 


XUnDfne 


added she, turning to the knight; “there 
stands a very comfortable chair for you ; only 
remember it must not be too roughly handled, 
for one leg is not so steady as it has been.” 
The knight drew the chair carefully forward, 
seated himself sociably, and soon felt quite at 
home in this little household, and as if he had 
just returned to it from a far journey. 

The three friends began to converse openly 
and familiarly together. First the knight 
asked a few questions about the forest, but the 
old man would not say much of that ; least of 
all, said he, was it fitting to talk of such things 
at nightfall ; but, on household concerns, and 
their own way of life, the old folks talked 
readily ; and were pleased when the knight 
told them of his travels, and that he had a cas- 
tle near the source of the Danube, and that his 
name was Lord Huldbrand of Ringstetten. In 
the middle of their discourse, the stranger 
often observed a noise outside the small win- 
dow, as if some one were dashing water against 
it. The old man knit his brows and looked 
grave whenever this occurred ; at last, when a 


•ClnMne 


7 


great splash of water came full against the 
panes, and some found its way into the room, 
he could bear it no longer, but started up, cry- 
ing : “Undine ! will you never leave off these 
childish tricks, — when we have a stranger gen- 
tleman in the house too?” This produced 
silence outside, all but a sound of suppressed 
giggling, and the fisherman said as he came 
back: “My honored guest, you must put up 
with this, and perhaps with many another piece 
of mischief ; but she means no harm. It is our 
adopted child Undine; there is no breaking 
her of her childish ways, though she is eighteen 
years old now. But as I told you she is as 
good a child as ever lived, at bottom.” 

“Ay, so you may say!” rejoined his wife, 
shaking her head. “When you come home 
from fishing, or from a journey, her playful 
nonsense may be pleasant enough. But, to be 
keeping her out of mischief all day long, as I 
must do, and never get a word of sense from 
her, nor a bit of help and comfort in my old 
age, is enough to weary the patience of a 
saint.” 


8 


•Clnbine 


“Well, well,” said the good man, “you feel 
toward Undine as I do toward the lake. Though 
its waves are apt enough to burst my banks 
and my nets, yet I love them for all that, and 
so do you love our pretty wench, with all her 
plaguy tricks. Don’t you ? ” 

“ Why, one cannot be really angry with her, 
to be sure,” said the dame, smiling. 

Here the door flew open, and a beautiful fair 
creature tripped in, and said playfully : “Well, 
father, you made game of me ; where is your 
guest?” The next moment she perceived the 
knight, and stood fixed in mute admiration ; 
while Huldbrand gazed upon her lovely form, 
and tried to impress her image on his mind, 
thinking that he must avail himself of her 
amazement to do so, and that in a moment she 
would shrink away in a fit of bashfulness. But 
it proved otherwise. After looking at him a 
good while, she came up to him familiarly, 
knelt down beside him, and playing with a 
golden medal that hung from his rich chain, 
she said : “ So, thou kind, thou beautiful guest ! 
hast thou found us out in our poor hut at last ? 


'QlnMne 


9 


Why didst thou roam the world so many years 
without coming near us? Art come through the 
wild forest, my handsome friend?” The old 
woman allowed him no time to answer. She 
desired her to get up instantly, like a modest 
girl, and to set about her work. But Undine, 
without replying, fetched a footstool and put it 
close to Huldbrand’s chair, sat down there with 
her spinning, and said cheerfully : “I will sit 
and work here.” The old man behaved as 
parents are apt to do with spoiled children. He 
pretended not to see Undine’s waywardness, 
and was beginning to talk of something else ; 
but she would not let him. She said : “I asked 
our visitor where he came from, and he has not 
answered me yet.” 

“ From the forest I came, you beautiful 
sprite,” answered Huldbrand ; and she con- 
tinued : 

“ Then you must tell me how you came there, 
and what wonderful adventures you had in it, 
for I know that nobody can escape without 
some.” 

Huldbrand could not help shuddering on 


10 


lUnDine 


being reminded of his adventures, and involun- 
tarily glanced at the window, half expecting to 
see one of the strange beings he had encoun- 
tered in the forest grinning at him through it ; 
but nothing was to be seen except the deep 
black night, which had now closed in. He recol- 
lected himself, and was just beginning his nar- 
rative, when the old man interposed: “Not 
just now. Sir Knight ; this is no time for such 
tales.” 

But Undine jumped up passionately, put her 
beautiful arms akimbo, and standing before thcj 
fisherman, exclaimed : “ What ! may not he tell 
his story, father — may not he ? But I will have 
it ; he must ; he shall indeed ! ” And she 
stamped angrily with her pretty feet, but it was 
all done in so comical and graceful a manner 
that Huldbrand thought her still more be- 
witching in her wrath, than in her playful 
mood. 

Not so the old man ; his long-restrained anger 
burst out uncontrolled. He scolded Undine 
smartly for her disobedience, and unmannerly 
conduct to the stranger, his wife chiming in. 


•QlnDine 


II 


Undine then said : “ Very well, if you will be 
quarrelsome, and not let me have my own way, 
you may sleep alone in your smoky old hut ! 
and she shot through the door like an arrow, 
and rushed into the dark night. 




CHAPTER ri. 

HOW UNDIISTE FIRST CAMF TO THE FISHER- 
MAN. 

H ULDBRAND and the fisherman sprang 
from their seats, and tried to catch the 
angry maiden ; but before they could reach the 
house door, Undine had vanished far into the 
thick shades, and not a sound of her light foot- 
steps was to be heard, by which to track her 
course. Huldbrand looked doubtfully at his 
host : he almost thought that the whole fair 
vision which had so suddenly plunged into the 
night, must be a continuation of the phantom 
play which had whirled around him in his pas- 
sage through the forest. But the old man 
mumbled through his teeth : “ It is not the first 
time she has served us so. And here we are, 
left in our anxiety, with a sleepless night before 


'ClnOfne 


13 


us ; for who can tell what harm may befall her, 
all alone out-of-doors till daybreak?” 

“Then let us be after her, good father, for 
God’s sake ! ” cried Huldbrand, eagerly. 

The old man replied : “Where would be the 
use ? It were a sin to let you set off alone in 
pursuit of the foolish girl, and my old legs 
would never overtake such a Will-with-the- 
wisp — even if we could guess which way she is 
gone.” 

“At least let us call her, and beg her to 
come back,” said Huldbrand ; and he began 
calling after her in most moving tones : “ Un- 
dine ! O Undine ! do return ! ” 

The old man shook his head, and said that all 
the shouting in the world would do no good 
with such a wilful little thing. But yet he could 
not himself help calling out from time to time 
in the darkness: “Undine! ah, sweet Undine I 
I entreat thee, come back this once 1 ” 

The fisherman’s words proved true. Nothing 
was to be seen or heard of Undine ; and as her 
foster-father would by no means suffer Huld- 
brand to pursue her, they had nothing for it 


14 


‘dnJMne 


but to go in again. They found the fire on the 
hearth nearly burnt out, and the dame, who did 
not take to heart Undine’s flight and danger so 
much as her husband, was gone to bed. The 
old man blew the'coals, laid on dry wood, and 
by the light of the reviving flames he found a 
flagon of wine, which he put between himself 
and his guest. “You are uneasy about that 
silly wench. Sir Knight,” said he, “and we had 
better kill part of the night chatting and drink- 
ing, than toss in our beds, trying to sleep in 
vain. Had not we ? ” 

Huldbrand agreed ; the fisherman made him 
sit in his wife’s empty arm-chair, and they both 
drank and talked together, as a couple of 
worthy friends should do. Whenever, indeed, 
there was the least stir outside the window, or 
even sometimes without any, one of them 
would look up and say, “There she comes!” 
Then they would keep silence for a few mo- 
ments, and as nothing came, resume their con- 
versation, with a shake of the head and a sigh. 

But as neither could think of much besides 
Undine, the best means they could devise for 


UlnDine 


15 


beguiling the time was that the fisherman 
should relate, and the knight listen to, the his- 
tory of her first coming to the cottage. He be- 
gan as follows : 

“ One day, some fifteen years ago, I was car- 
rying my fish through that dreary wood to the 
town. My wife stayed at home, as usual ; and 
at that time she had a good and pretty reason 
for it ; — the Lord had bestowed upon us (old as 
we already were) a lovely babe. It was a girl ; 
and so anxious were we to do our best for the 
little treasure, that we began to talk of leaving 
our beautiful home, in order to give our darling 
a good education among other human beings. 
With us poor folks, wishing is one thing, and 
doing is quite another. Sir Knight ; but what 
then ? we can only try our best. Well then, as 
I plodded on, I turned over the scheme in my 
head. I was loth to leave our own dear nook, 
and it made me shudder to think, in the din 
and brawls of the town : So it is here we shall 
soon live, or in some place nearly as bad ! Yet 
I never murmured against our good God, but 
rather thanked him in secret for his last bless- 


i6 


•QlnOine 


ing ; nor can I say that I met with any thing 
extraordinary in the forest, either coming or 
going ; indeed, nothing to frighten me has ever 
crossed my path. The Tord was ever with me 
in the awful shades.” 

Here he uncovered his bald head, and sat for 
a time in silent prayer ; then putting his cap on 
again, he continued : “ On this side of the wood 
it was, — on this side, that the sad news met me. 
My wife came toward me with eyes streaming 
like two fountains ; she was in deep mourning. 

‘ Oh, good Heaven ! ’ I called out, ‘ where is 
our dear child ? Tell me ! ’ 

” ‘ Gone, dear husband,’ she replied ; and we 
went into our cottage together, weeping silently. 
I looked for the little corpse, and then first 
heard how it had happened. My wife had been 
sitting on the shore with the child, and play- 
ing with it, all peace and happiness ; when 
the babe all at once leaned over, as if she saw 
something most beautiful in the water ; there 
she sat smiling, sweet angel ! and stretching out 
her little hands; but the next moment she 
darted suddenly out of her arms, and down into 


Tlln&ine 


17 


the smooth waters. I made much search for 
the poor little corpse ; but in vain ; not a 
trace of her could I find. 

“When evening was come, we childless par- 
ents were sitting together in the hut, silent ; 
neither of us had a mind to speak, even if the 
tears had let us. We were looking idly into the 
fire. Just then something made a noise at the 
door. It opened, and a beautiful little maid, of 
three or four years old, stood there gayly 
dressed, and smiling in our faces. We were 
struck dumb with surprise, and at first hardly 
knew if she were a little human being, or only 
an empty shadow. But I soon saw that her 
golden hair and gay clothes were dripping wet, 
and it struck me the little fairy must have been 
in the water, and distressed for help. ‘Wife,’ 
said I, ‘ our dear child had no friend to save 
her ; shall we not do for others what would have 
made our remaining days so happy, if any one 
had done it for us ? ’ We undressed the child, 
put her to bed, and gave her a warm drink, 
while she never said a word, but kept smiling 
at us with her sky-blue eyes. 


i8 


TllnOine 


“ The next morning we found that she had 
done herself no harm ; and I asked her who 
were her parents, and what had brought her 
here ; but she gave me a strange, confused an- 
swer. I am sure "she must have been born far 
away, for these fifteen years have we kept her, 
without ever finding out where she came from ; 
and besides, she is apt to let drop such marvel- 
lous things in her talk, that you might think 
she had lived in the moon. She will speak of 
golden castles, of crystal roofs, and I can’t tell 
what besides. The only thing she has told us 
clearly, is, that as she was sailing on the lake 
with her mother, she fell into the water, and 
when she recovered her senses found herself 
lying under these trees, in safety and comfort, 
upon our pretty shore. 

“So now we had a serious, anxious charge 
thrown upon us. To keep and bring up the 
foundling, instead of our poor drowned child, — 
that was soon resolved upon ; but who should 
tell us if she had yet been baptized or no? 
She knew not how to answer the question. 
That she was one of God’s creatures, made for 


'dn^ine 


his glory and service, that much she knew ; 
and any thing that would glorify and please 
him, she was willing to have done. So my 
wife and I said to each other: ‘If she has 
never been baptized, there is no doubt it should 
be done ; and if she has, better do too much 
than too little, in a matter of such conse- 
quence.’ We therefore began to seek a good 
name for the child. Dorothea seemed to us the 
best ; for I had once heard that meant God’s 
gift ; and she had indeed been sent us by 
him as a special blessing, to comfort us in 
our misery. But she would not hear of that 
name. She said Undine was what her parents 
used to call her, and Undine she would still be. 
That, I thought, sounded like a heathen name, 
and occurred in no calendar ; and I took coun- 
sel with a priest in the town about it. He also 
objected to the name Undine ; and, at my earn- 
est request, came home with me, through the 
dark forest, in order to baptize her. The little 
creature stood before us, looking so gay and 
charming in her holiday clothes, that the 
priest’s heart warmed toward her ; and what 


20 


TUnOine 


with coaxing and wilfulness, she got the better 
of him, so that he clean forgot all the objec- 
tions he had thought of to the name of Undine. 
She was therefore so christened, and behaved 
particularly welf and decently during the 
sacred rite, wild and unruly as she had always 
been before. For, what my wife said just now 
was too true — we have indeed found her the 
wildest little fairy ! If I were to tell you all — ” 
Here the knight interrupted the fisherman, 
to call his attention to a sound of roaring 
waters, which he had noticed already in the 
pauses of the old man’s speech, and which now 
rose in a fury as it rushed past the windows. 
They both rushed to the door. By the light of 
the newly risen moon, they saw the brook 
which gushed out of the forest breaking wildly 
over its banks, and whirling along stones and 
branches in its eddying course. A storm, as if 
awakened by the uproar, burst from the heavy 
clouds that were chasing each other across the 
moon ; the lake howled under the wings of the 
wind ; the trees on the shore groaned from top 
to bottom, and bowed themselves over the rush- 


UlnDine 


21 


ing waters. “ Undine ! for God’s sake, Un- 
dine ! ” cried the knight and the old man. 
No answer was to be heard ; and, heedless now 
of any danger to themselves, they ran off in 
different directions, calling her in frantic anx- 
iety. 




CHAPTER HI. 

HOW THEY FOUND UNDINE AGAIN. 

T he longer Huldbrand wandered in vain pur- 
suit of Undine, the more bewildered he 
became. The idea that she might be a mere 
spirit of the woods, sometimes returned upon 
him with double force ; nay, amid the howling 
of waves and storm, the groaning of trees, and 
the wild commotion of the once-peaceful spot, 
he might have fancied the whole promontory, 
its hut and its inhabitants, to be a delusion of 
magic, but that he still heard in the distance 
the fisherman’s piteous cry of “ Undine ! ” and 
the old housewife’s loud prayers and hymns, 
above the whistling of the blast. 

At last he found himself on the margin of 
the overflowing stream, and saw it by the moon- 
light rushing violently along, close to the edge 
of the mysterious forest, so as to make an 


•ClnDine 


23 


island of the peninsula on which he stood. 
“Gracious Heaven ! ” thought he, “Undine may- 
have ventured a step or two into that awful for- 
est, — perhaps in her pretty waywardness, just 
because I would not tell her my story, — and the 
swollen stream has cut her off, and left her 
weeping alone among the spectres ! ” A cry of 
terror escaped him, and he clambered down the 
bank by means of some stones and fallen trees, 
hoping to wade or swim across the flood, and 
seek the fugitive beyond it. Fearful and un- 
earthly visions did indeed float before him, like 
those he had met with in the morning, beneath 
these groaning, tossing branches. Especially 
he was haunted by the appearance of a tall 
white man, whom he remembered but too well, 
grinning and nodding at him from the opposite 
bank; however, the thought of these grim 
monsters did but urge him onward as he recol- 
lected Undine, now perhaps in deadly fear 
among them, and alone. 

He had laid hold of a stout pine branch, and 
leaning on it, was standing in the eddy, though 
scarcely able to stem it, but he stepped boldly 


24 


'ClnDine 


forward — when a sweet voice exclaimed close 
behind him ; “ Trust him not — trust not ! The 
old fellow is tricksy — the stream ! ” 

Well he knew those silver tones ; the moon 
was just disappearing behind a cloud, and he 
stood amid the deepening shades, made dizzy 
as the water shot by him with the speed of an 
arrow. Yet he would not desist. “And if thou 
art not truly there, if thou flittest before me an 
empty shadow, I care not to live ; I will melt 
into air like thee, my beloved Undine ! ” This 
he cried aloud, and strode farther into the 
flood. 

‘ ‘ Look round then, — look round, fair youth ! 
he heard just behind him, and looking round, 
he beheld by the returning moonbeams, on a 
fair island left by the flood, under some thickly 
interlaced branches. Undine all smiles and love- 
liness, nestling in the flowery grass. How much 
more joyfully than before did the young man 
use his pine staff to cross the waters ! A few 
strides brought him through the flood that 
had parted them ; and he found himself at her 
side, on the nook of soft grass, securely shel- 


'Qn^ine 


25 


tered under the shade of the old trees. Undine 
half arose, and twined her arms round his 
neck in the green arbor, making him sit down 
by her on the turf. “Here you shall tell me 
all, my own friend,” said she in a low whisper ; 
“the cross old folks cannot overhear us. And 
our pretty bower of leaves is well worth their 
wretched hut.” 

“This is heaven!” cried Huldbrand, as he 
clasped in his arms the beautiful flatterer. 

Meantime the old man had reached the banks 
of the stream, and he called out : ‘ ‘ So, l^ir 
Knight, when I had made you welcome, as one 
honest man should another, here are you mak- 
ing love to my adopted child, — to say nothing 
of your leaving me to seek her, alone and terri- 
fied, all night.” 

“I have but this moment found her, old 
man I ” cried the knight in reply. 

“Well, I am glad of that,” said the fisher- 
man ; “ now then bring her back to me at 
once.” 

But Undine would not hear of it. She had 
rather, she said, go quite away into the wild ' 


26 


•ClnDine 


woods with the handsome stranger, than return 
to the hut, where she had never had her own 
way, and which the knight must sooner or later 
leave. Embracing Huldbrand, she sang with 
peculiar charm aifd grace ; — 

*• From misty cave the mountain wave 
I^eapt out and sought the main ; 

The ocean’s foam she made her home. 

And ne’er returned again.” 

The old man wept bitterly as she sang, but 
this did not seem to move her. She continued 
to caress her lover, till at length he said : “ Un- 
dine, the poor old man’s grief goes to my 
heart, if not to yours. Let us go back to him.” 

Astonished, she raised her large blue eyes 
toward him, and after a pause answered slowly 
and reluctantly : “To please you, I will ; what- 
ever you like pleases me too. But the old man 
yonder must first promise me that he will let 
you tell me all you saw in the forest, and the 
rest we shall see about.” 

“Only come back, — do come!” cried the 
fisherman, and not another word could he say. 
At the same moment he stretched his arm over 


'ClnDine 


27 


the stream toward her, and nodded his head 
by way of giving her the desired promise ; and 
as his white hair fell over his face, it gave him a 
strange look, and reminded Huldbrand involun- 
tarily of the nodding white man in the woods. 
Determined, however, that nothing should stop 
him, the young knight took the fair damsel in 
his arms, and carried her through the short 
space of foaming flood, which divided the island 
from the main-land. The old man fell upon 
Undine’s neck, and rejoiced, and kissed her in 
the fulness of his heart ; his aged wife also came 
up, and welcomed their recovered child most 
warmly. All reproaches were forgotten ; the 
more so, as Undine seemed to have left her 
sauciness behind, and overwhelmed her foster- 
parents with kind words and caresses. 

When these transports of joy had subsided, 
and they began to look about them, the rosy 
dawn was just shedding its glow over the lake, 
the storm had ceased, and the birds were sing- 
ing merrily on the wet branches. As Undine 
insisted upon hearing the story of the knight’s 
adventure, both the old folks cheerfully in- 


28 


TIlnDtne 


dulged her. Breakfast was set out under the 
trees between the cottage and the lake, and 
they sat down before it with glad hearts, Un- 
dine placing herself resolutely on the grass at 
the knight’s feeC Huldbrand began his nar- 
rative as follows : 




CHAPTER IV. 

OF WHAT 6aD BFFAI:.IvFN thf knight in the 
FOREST. 

“ A BOUT eight days ago, I rode into the im- 
perial city beyond this forest. A grand 
tournament and tilting was held there, and I 
spared neither lance nor steed. As I stood still 
a moment to rest myself, in a pause of the noble 
game, and had just given my helmet in charge 
to a squire, my eye fell upon a most beautiful 
woman, who stood, richly adorned, in one of 
the galleries, looking on. I inquired her name, 
and found that this charming lady was Bertalda, 
the adopted daughter of one of the principal 
lords in the neighborhood. I observed that her 
eye was upon me too, and as is the way with us 
young knights, I had not been slack before, but 
I now fought more bravely still. That evening 


30 


'Gln^inc 


I was Bertalda’s partner in the dance, and so I 
was again every evening during the jousting.” 

Here a sudden pain in his left hand, which 
hung beside him, checked the knight in his 
tale, and he looked at his hand. Undine’s 
pearly teeth had bitten one of his fingers sharply, 
and she looked very black at hirn. But the 
next moment that look changed into an expres- 
sion of tender sadness, and she whispered low : 
“ So you are faithless too ! ” Then she hid her 
face in her hands, and the knight proceeded 
with his tale, although staggered and perplexed. 

“That Bertalda is a high-spirited, extraordi- 
nary maid. On the second day she charmed 
me far less than the first, and on the third, less 
still. But I remained with her, because she was 
more gracious to me than to any other knight, 
and so it fell out that I asked her in jest for one 
of her gloves. ‘You shall have it,’ said she, 
‘ if you will visit the haunted forest alone, and 
bring me an account of it.’ It was not that I 
cared much for her glove, but the words had 
been spoken, and a knight that loves his fame 
does not wait to be twice urged to such a feat.” 


UlnOine 


31 


“ I thought she had loved you,” interrupted 
Undine. 

“ It looked like it,” he replied. 

“ Well,” cried the maiden, laughing, “ she 
must be a fool indeed ! To drive him away 
whom she loves ! and into a haunted forest be- 
sides ! The forest and its mysteries might have 
waited long enough for me.” 

“ I set out yesterday morning,” continued the 
knight, smiling kindly at Undine. “The stems 
of the trees looked so bright in the morning 
sunshine, as it played upon the green turf, and 
the leaves whispered together so pleasantly, 
that I could not but laugh at those who im- 
agined any evil to lurk in such a beautiful 
place. I shall very soon have ridden through it 
and back again, thought I, pushing on cheerily, 
and before I was aware of it, I found myself in 
the depths of its leafy shades, and the plains 
behind me far out of sight. It then occurred to 
me that I was likely enough to lose my way in 
this wilderness of trees, and that this might be 
the only real danger to which the traveller was 
here exposed. So I halted, and took notice of 


32 


Uln^fne 


the course of the sun ; it was now high in the 
heavens. 

‘ ‘ On looking up, I saw something black 
among the boughs of a tall oak. I took it for a 
bear, and seized my rifle ; but it addressed me 
in a human voice, most hoarse and grating, say- 
ing : ‘ If I did not break off the twigs up here, 

what should we do to-night for fuel to roast you 
with. Sir Simpleton ? ’ And he gnashed his 
teeth, and rattled the boughs, so as to startle 
my horse, which ran away with me before I 
could make out what kind of a devil it was.” 

“ You should not mention name,” said the 
fisherman, crossing himself ; his wife silently 
did the same, while Undine turned her beaming 
eyes upon her lover and said : 

“ He is safe now ; it is well they did not really 
roast him. Go on, pretty youth.” 

He continued: “ My terrified horse had al- 
most dashed me against many a trunk and 
branch ; he was running down with fright and 
heat, and yet there was no stopping him. At 
length he rushed madly toward the brink of a 
stony precipice ; but here, as it seemed to me, 


•ClnDine 


33 


a tall white man threw himself across the plun- 
ginganimal’s path, and made him start back, and 
stop. I then recovered the control of him, and 
found that, instead of a white man, my pre- 
server was no other than a bright silvery brook, 
which gushed down from a hill beside me, 
checking and crossing my horse in his course.” 

“Thanks, dear brook !” cried Undine, clap- 
ping her hands. But the old man shook his 
head, and seemed lost in thought. 

“ Scarcely had I settled myself in the saddle, 
and got firm hold of my reins again,” pro- 
ceeded Huldbrand, “ when an extraordinary 
little man sprang up beside me, wizen and hid- 
eous beyond measure ; he was of a yellow- 
brown hue, and his nose almost as big as the 
whole of his body. He grinned at me in the 
most fulsome way with his wide mouth, bowing 
and scraping every moment. As I could not 
abide these antics, I thanked him abruptly, 
pulled my still trembling horse another way, 
and thought I would seek some other adven- 
ture, or perhaps go home ; for during my wild 
gallop the sun had passed his meridian, and was 


34 


•UlnDine 


now declining westward. But the little imp 
sprang round like lightning, and stood in front 
of my horse again. 

‘ ‘ ‘ Make way ! ’ cried I, impatiently, ‘ the ani- 
mal is unruly, and may run over you. * 

“ ‘ Oh !’ snarled the imp, with a laugh more 
disgusting than before, ‘first give me a piece of 
coin for having caught your horse so nicely ; 
but for me, you and your pretty beast would be 
lying in the pit down yonder ; whew ! ’ 

“ ‘ Only have done with your grimaces,’ said 
I, ‘ and take your money along with you, 
though it is all a lie : look there, it was that 
honest brook that saved me, not you — you piti- 
ful wretch ! ’ So saying, I dropped a gold coin 
into his comical cap, which he held out toward 
me like a beggar. 

“I trotted on, but he still followed, scream- 
ing, and, with inconceivable rapidity, whisked 
up to my side. I put my horse into a gallop ; 
he kept pace with me, though with much diffi- 
culty, and twisted his body into various frightful 
and ridiculous attitudes, crying at each step as 
he held up the money : ‘ Bad coin ! bad gold ! 




35 


bad gold ! bad coin ! ’ And this he shrieked in 
such a ghastly tone that you would have ex- 
pected him to drop down dead after each cry. 

“At last I stopped, much vexed, and asked, 
‘ What do you want, with your shrieks? Take 
another gold coin ; take two if you will, only let 
me alone.’ 

“He began his odious smirking again, and 
snarled : ‘ It ’s not gold, it ’s not gold that I 
want, young gentleman ; I have rather more of 
that than I can use : you shall see. ’ 

“ All at once the surface of the ground became 
transparent ; it looked like a smooth globe of 
green glass, and within it I saw a crowd of gob- 
lins at play with silver and gold. Tumbling 
about, head over heels, they pelted each other 
in sport, making a toy of the precious metals, 
and powdering their faces with gold-dust. My 
ugly companion stood half above, half below 
the surface; he made the others reach up to 
him quantities of gold, and showed it me laugh- 
ing, and then flung it into the fathomless depths 
beneath. He displayed the piece of gold I had 
given him to the goblins below, who held their 


36 


‘dnOine 


sides with laughing, and hissed at me in scorn. 
At length all their bony fingers pointed at me 
together; and louder and louder, closer and 
closer, wilder and wilder grew the turmoil, as it 
rose toward me,'till not my horse only, but I 
myself was terrified ; I put spurs into him, and 
cannot tell how long I may have scoured the 
forest this time. 

“ When at last I halted, the shades of evening 
had closed in. Through the branches I saw a 
white footpath gleaming, and hoped it must be 
a road cut of the forest to the town. I resolved 
to work my wa)’' thither ; but lo ! an indistinct 
dead-white face, with ever-changing features, 
peeped at me through the leaves ; I tried to 
avoid it, but wherever I went, there it was. 
Provoked, I attempted to push my horse against 
it ; then it splashed us both over with white 
foam, and we turned away, blinded for the mo- 
ment. So it drove us, step by step, farther and 
farther from the footpath, and indeed never let- 
ting us go on undisturbed but in one direction. 
While we kept to this, it was close upon our 
heels, but did not thwart us. Having looked 


'ClnDfne 


37 


round once or twice, I observed that the white 
foaming head was placed on a gigantic body, 
equally white. I sometimes doubted my first 
impression, and thought it merely a water-fall, 
but I never could satisfy myself that it was so. 
Wearily did my horse and I precede this active 
white pursuer, who often nodded at us, as if 
saying, ‘ That ’s right ! that ’s right ! ’ and it 
ended by our issuing from the wood here, where 
I rejoiced to see your lawn, the lake, and this 
cottage, and where the long white man van- 
ished.” 

“Thank Heaven, he is gone,” said the old 
man, and he then proceeded to consider how 
his guest could best return to his friends in the 
city. Upon this, Undine was heard to laugh in 
a whisper. 

Huldbrand observed it, and said : “I thought 
you had wished me to stay ; and now you seem 
pleased when we talk of my going?” 

“Because,” replied Undine, “you cannot get 
away. Only try to cross the swollen brook in a 
boat, on horseback, or on foot. Or rather, do 
not try, for you would be dashed to pieces by 


38 


'ClnOinJ) 


the branches and stones that it hurls along. 
And as to the lake, I know how that is : father 
never ventures across it in his boat.” 

Huldbrand laughed, and got up to see whether 
she had spoken true ; the old man went with 
him, and the maiden tripped along plav- 
fully by their side. They found she had told 
them no worse than the truth, and the knight 
resigned himself to staying in the island, as it 
might now be called, till the floods had subsided. 
As they returned homeward, he whispered in 
his pretty companion’s ear: “Well, my little 
Undine ! are you angry at my staying? ” 

“ Ah,” said she, sullenly, “ never mind. If I 
had not bitten you, who knows what might have 
come out in your story of Bertalda ? ” 




CHAPTER V. 

OF THF I.IFF WHICH THE KNIGHT EED ON THE 
ISEAND. 

H as it ever befallen thee, gentle reader, after 
many ups and downs in this troublesome 
world, to alight upon a spot where thou foundest 
rest ; where the love which is born with us for 
fireside comfort and domestic peace, revived in 
thee ; where thou couldst fancy thy early home 
with the blossoms of childhood, its pure, heart- 
felt affection, and the holy influence breathed 
from thy fathers’ graves, to be restored to thee 
— and that it must indeed be “good for thee to 
be here, and to build tabernacles ? ’ ’ The charm 
may have been broken, the dream dispelled ; 
but that has nothing to do with our present pic- 
ture ; nor wilt thou care to dwell on such bitter 
moments ; but recall to mind that period of un- 


40 


irinDine 


speakable peace, that foretaste of angelic rest 
•which was granted thee, and thou wilt partly 
conceive what the Knight Huldbrand felt, while 
he lived on the promontory. Often, with secret 
satisfaction, did he mark the forest stream 
rolling by more wildly every day ; its bed be- 
came wider and wider, and he felt the period of 
his seclusion from the world must be still pro- 
longed. Having found an old cross-bow in a 
corner of the cottage, and mended it, he spent 
part of his days ro-ving about, waylaying the 
birds that flew by, and bringing whatever he 
killed to the kitchen, as rare game. When he 
came back laden -with spoil. Undine would often 
scold him for taking the life of the dear little 
joyous creatures, soaring in the blue depths of 
heaven ; she would even weep bitterly over the 
dead birds. But if he came home empty-handed, 
she found fault with his awkwardness and lazi- 
ness, which obliged them to be content with fish 
and crabs for dinner. Either way, he took de- 
light in her pretty fits of anger ; the more so as 
she rarely failed to make up for them by the 
fondest caresses afterwards. The old folks. 


‘ClnDine 


41 


having been in the young people’s confidence 
from the first, unconsciously looked upon them 
as a betrothed or even married pair, shut out 
from the world with them in this retreat, and 
bestowed upon them for comforts in their old 
age. And this very seclusion helped to make 
the young knight feel as if he were already 
Undine’s bridegroom. It seemed to him that 
the whole world was contained within the sur- 
rounding waters, or at any rate, that he could 
never more cross that charmed boundary, and 
rejoin other human beings. And if at times 
the neighing of his steed reminded him of 
former feats of chivalry, and seemed to ask for 
more ; if his coat-of-arms, embroidered on the 
saddle and trappings, caught his eye ; or if his 
good sword fell from the nail on which he had 
hung it and slipped out of its scabbard, he 
would silence the misgivings that arose, by 
thinking. Undine is not a fisherman’s daughter, 
but most likely sprung from some highly noble 
family in distant lands. The only thing that 
ever ruffled him was to hear the old woman 
scolding Undine. The wayward girl only 


42 


UlnDtne 


laughed at her ; but to him it seemed as if his 
own honor were touched ; and yet he could not 
blame the good wife, for Undine mostly de- 
served ten times worse than she got, therefore 
he still felt kindly toward the old dame, and 
these little rubs scarcely disturbed the even cur- 
rent of their lives. 

At length, however, a grievance did arise. 
The knight and the fisherman were in the habit 
of sitting cheerfully over a flask of wine, both 
at noon, and also at eventide while the wind 
whistled around, as it generally did at night. 
But they had now exhausted the whole stock 
which the fisherman had, long since, brought 
from the town with him, and they both missed 
it sadly. Undine laughed at them all day for it, 
but they could not join in her mirth as heartily 
as usual. Toward evening she left the cottage, 
saying she could no longer bear such long, dis- 
mal faces. As the twilight looked stormy, and 
the waters were beginning to moan and heave, 
the knight and the old man ran out anxiously 
to fetch her back, remembering the agony of 
that night when Huldbrand first came to the 




43 


cottage. But they were met by Undine, clapping 
her hands merrily. ‘ ‘ What will you give me if 
I get you some wine ? But, indeed, I want no 
reward for it,” she added. ” I shall be satisfied 
if you will but look brighter, and find more to 
say than you have done all these tedious morn- 
ings. Come along ; the floods have washed a 
barrel ashore, and I will engage to sleep a 
whole week through if it is not a barrel of 
wine ! ” 

The men both followed her to a shady creek, 
and there found a barrel, which did look as if 
it contained the generous liquor which they 
longed for. They rolled it toward the hut as 
fast as they could, for a heavy storm seemed 
stalking across the sky, and there was light 
enough left to show them the waves of the lake 
tossing up their foaming heads, as if looking 
out for the rain which would soon pour down 
upon them. Undine lent a hand in the work, 
and presently, when the shower threatened to 
break instantly over their heads, she spoke to 
the big clouds in playful defiance : “You, you 
there! mind you do not give us a drenching; 


44 


‘GlnDine 


we are some way from home yet.” The old 
man admonished her that this was sinful pre- 
sumption, but she laughed slyly to herself, and 
no harm came of it. Beyond their hopes, they 
all three reached the comfortable fireside with 
their prize, unhurt ; and it was not till they had 
opened the barrel, and found it to contain ex- 
cellent wine, that the rain broke from the 
clouds in torrents, and they heard the storm 
roaring among the trees and over the lake’s 
heaving billows. 

A few bottles were soon filled from the great 
barrel, enough to last them several days ; and 
they sat sipping and chatting over the bright 
fire, secure from the raging tempest. But the 
old man’s heart presently smote him. “ Dear 
me,” said he, “ here are we making merry over 
the blessing of Providence, while the owner of 
it has perhaps been carried away by the flood, 
and lost his life!” — “No, that he has not,” 
said Undine, smiling ; and she filled the knight’s 
glass again. He replied : “I give you my 
word, good father, that if I knew how to find 
and save him, no danger should deter me ; I 


TIlnDfne 


45 


would not shrink from setting out in this dark- 
ness. This much I promise you, if ever I set 
foot in an inhabited country again, I will make 
inquiry after him or his heirs, and restore to 
them twice or three times the value of the 
wine.” This pleased the old man ; he gave an 
approving nod to the knight, and drained his 
glass with a better conscience and a lighter 
heart. But Undine said to Huldbrand : “ Do 
as you like with your money ; you may make 
what compensation you please ; but as to set- 
ting out and wandering after him, that was 
hastily said. I should cry my heart out if we 
chanced to lose you ; and had not you rather 
stay with me and with the good wine? ” — “Why, 
yes,” said Huldbrand, laughing. — “ Well then,” 
rejoined Undine, “it was a foolish thing you 
talked of doing ; charity begins at home, you 
know.” The old woman turned away, shaking 
her head and sighing ; her husband forgot his 
usual indulgence for the pretty lassie, and re- 
proved her sharply. “ One would think,” said 
he, “you had been reared by Turks and hea- 
thens ; God forgive you and us, you perverse 


46 


•GlnDlne 


child ! ” — “ Ay, but it is my way of thinking,” 
pursued Undine, ” whoever has reared me, so 
what is the use of your talking ? ” — ” Peace ! ” 
cried the fisherman ; and she, who, with all her 
wildness, was sometimes cowed in a moment, 
clung trembling to Huldbrand, and whispered : 
” Are you angry with me, dear friend ? ” The 
knight pressed her soft hand, and stroked down 
her ringlets. Not a word could he say ; his dis- 
tress at the old man’s harshness toward Undine 
had sealed his lips ; and so each couple re- 
mained sitting opposite the other, in moody 
silence and constraint. 




CHAPTER VI. 

OF A BRIDAIv. 

A GENTLE tap at the door broke the silence, 
and made them all start ; it sometimes 
happens that a mere trifle, coming quite unex- 
pectedly, strikes the senses with terror. They 
looked at each other, hesitating ; the tap was 
repeated, accompanied by a deep groan ; and 

y 

the knight grasped his sword. But the old man 
muttered: “If it is what I fear, it is not a 
sword that will help us ! ” Undine, however, 
stepped forward to the door, and said boldly 
and sharply : “If you are after any mischief, 
you spirits of earth, Kiihlebom shall teach you 
manners,” 

The terror of the others increased at these 
strange words ; they looked at the maiden with 


48 


TIlnDlne 


awe, and Huldbrand was just mustering courage 
to ask her a question, when a voice answered 
her from without : “ I am no spirit of earth ; 
call me, if you will, a spirit pent in mortal clay. 
If you fear God, and will be charitable, you 
dwellers in the cottage, open the door to me.” 
Undine opened it before he had done speaking, 
and held out a lamp into the stormy night, so 
as to show them the figure of an aged priest, 
who started back as the radiant beauty of Un- 
dine flashed upon his sight. Well might he 
suspect magic and witchery, when so bright a 
vision shone out of a mean-looking cottage ; he 
accordingly began a canticle : “ All good spirits 
give praise to the Lord ! ” 

“ I am no ghost,” said Undine, smiling ; “am 
I so frightful to behold? And you may see 
that a pious saying has no terrors for me. I 
worship God, too, and praise him after my own 
fashion ; he has not created us all alike. Come 
in, venerable father ; you will find worthy folks 
here.” 

The holy man walked in, bowing and casting 
his eyes around, and looking most mild and 


I 


I 


T . I 





/ 








50 


lanMne 


venerable. Every fold of his dark garment was 
dripping with water, and so were his long white 
beard and hoary locks. The fisherman and the 
knight led him to a bedroom, and gave him 
change of clothing, while the women dried his 
wet garments by the hearth fire. The aged 
stranger thanked them with all humility and 
gentleness, but would by no means accept of 
the knight’s splendid mantle, which he offered 
him ; he chose himself an old gray wrapper of 
the fisherman’s instead. So they returned to 
the kitchen ; the dame gave up her own arm- 
chair to the priest, and had no peace till he sat 
himself down in it : “ For,” said she, “ you are 
old and weary, and a priest besides.” Undine 
pushed her little footstool, on which she gener- 
ally sat by Huldbrand toward the good man’s 
feet, and altogether behaved to him quite 
properly and gracefully. Huldbrand took no- 
tice of this, in a playful whisper ; but she an- 
swered very gravely : “ Because he is a servant 
of the Maker of us all ; that is too serious for a 
jest.” 

Meantime the two men set meat and wine be- 


xanMne 


51 


fore their guest, and when he had recruited his 
strength a little, he began his story ; saying 
that the day before he had left his monastery, 
which was a good way off beyond the lake, 
intending to visit the bishop at his palace, and 
report to him the distress which these almost 
supernatural floods had caused the monks and 
their poor tenantry. After going round a long 
way, to avoid these very floods, he had been 
obliged toward evening to cross an arm of the 
overflowing lake, with the help of two honest 
sailors. “ But,” added he, “ no sooner had our 
little vessel touched the waves, than we were 
wrapped in the tremendous storm which is still 
raging over our heads now. It looked as if the 
waters had only awaited our coming to let 
loose their fury. The oars were soon dashed 
from the seamen’s hands, and we saw their 
broken fragments carried farther and farther 
from us by the waves. We floated on the wave 
tops, helpless, driven by the furious tempest 
toward your shores, which we saw in the dis- 
tance whenever the clouds parted for a moment. 
The boat was tossed about still more wildly and 


52 


‘Cln&ine 


giddily ; and whether it upset, or I fell out, I 
cannot tell. I floated on, with the dark prospect 
of instant death before me, till a wave landed 
me at the foot of a tree, in this your island.” 

“Ay, island indeed ! ” said the fisherman. 
“It was a promontory but a short time ago. 
But, since the stream and our lake have gone 
raving mad together, every thing about us is 
new and strange.” 

The priest continued : “ As I crept along the 
water-side in the dark, with a wild uproar around 
me, something caught my eye, and presently I 
descried a beaten pathway, which was soon 
lost in the shades ; I spied the light of your cot- 
tage and ventured to come hither ; and I cannot 
sufficiently thank my heavenly Father, who has 
not only delivered me from the waters, but 
guided me to such kind souls. I feel this bless- 
ing the more, as it is very likely I may never 
see any faces but yours again.” — “ How so ? ” 
asked the fisherman. — “Can you guess how 
long this fury of the elements may last ? ’ ’ replied 
the priest. “ And I am an old man. My stream 
of life may perhaps lose itself in the earth, be- 




53 


fore these floods subside. And besides, it may- 
be the foaming waters will divide you from the 
forest more and more, till you are unable to get 
across in your fishing-boat ; and the people of 
the main-land, full of their own concerns, would 
quite forget you in your retreat.” 

Shuddering, and crossing herself, the fisher- 
man’s -wife exclaimed, “ God forbid ! ” But the 
old man smiled at her, and said : “ What crea- 
tures we are ! That would make no difference 
to you, at least, my dear wife. How many 
years is it since you have set foot within the 
forest ? And have you seen any face but Un- 
dine’s and mine ? Lately, indeed, we have had 
the good knight and priest besides. But they 
would stay with us ; so that if we are forgotten 
in this island, you will be the gainer.” 

“So I see,” said the dame; “yet somehow, 
it is cheerless to feel ourselves quite cut off from 
the rest of the world, however seldom we had 
seen it before.” 

“Then you will stay with us!” murmured 
Undine in a sweet voice, and she pressed closer 
to Huldbrand’s side. But he was lost in deep 


54 


TIlnDinc 


thought. Since the priest had last spoken, the 
land beyond the wild stream had seemed to his 
fancy more dark and distant than ever ; while the 
flowery island he had lived in — and his bride, 
the fairest flower in the picture — bloomed and 
smiled more and more freshly in his imagina- 
tion. Here was the priest at hand to unite 
them ; — and, to complete his resolution, the old 
dame just then darted a reproving look at Un- 
dine, for clinging to her lover’s side in the holy 
man’s presence ; an angry lecture seemed on 
the point of beginning. He turned toward the 
priest and these words burst from him : “You 
see before you a betrothed pair, reverend sir ; if 
this damsel and the kind people will consent, 
you shall unite us this very evening. ’ ’ 

The old folks were much surprised. Such a 
thought had often crossed their minds, but they 
had never till this moment heard it uttered ; and 
it now fell upon their ears like an unexpected 
thing. Undine had suddenly become quite 
grave, and sat musing deeply, while the priest 
inquired into various circumstances, and asked 
the old couple’s consent to the deed. After 


'dn^ine 


55 


some deliberation, they gave it. The dame went 
away to prepare the young people’s bridal cham- 
ber, and to fetch from her stores two conse- 
crated tapers for the wedding ceremony. Mean- 
while the knight was pulling two rings off his 
gold chain for himself and his bride to ex- 
change. But this roused Undine from her 
revery, and she said: “Stay! my parents did 
not send me into the world quite penniless ; 
they looked forward long ago to this occasion, 
and provided for it.” She quickly withdrew, 
and returned bringing two costly rings, one of 
which she gave to her betrothed and kept the 
other herself. This astonished the old fisher- 
man, and still more his wife, who came in soon 
after ; for they neither of them had ever seen 
these jewels about the child. “My parents,” 
said Undine, “had these rings sewed into the 
gay dress which I wore, when first I came to 
you. They charged me to let no one know of 
them till my wedding-day came. Therefore I 
took them secretly out of the dress, and have 
kept them hidden till this evening.” 

Here the priest put a stop to the conversa- 


56 


'ClnC)fne 


tion, by lighting the holy tapers, placing them 
on the table, and calling the young pair to him. 
With few and solemn words he joined then- 
hands ; the aged couple gave their blessing, 
while the bride leaned upon her husband, pen- 
sive and trembling. 

When it was over, the priest said : “You are 
strange people after all ! What did you mean 
by saying you were the only inhabitants of this 
island? During the whole ceremony there was 
a fine-looking tall man, in a white cloak, stand- 
ing just outside the window opposite me. He 
must be near the door still, if you like to invite 
him in.” — “Heaven forbid!” said the dame, 
shuddering ; the old man shook his head with- 
out speaking ; and Huldbrand rushed to the 
window. He could fancy he saw a streak of 
white, but it was soon lost in darkness. So he 
assured the priest he must have been mistaken ; 
and they all sat down comfortably round the 
fire. 



CHAPTER VII. 

HOW THE REST OF THE EVENING PASSED 
AWAY. 



NDINE had been perfectly quiet and well- 


behaved both before and during the mar- 
riage ceremony ; but now her wild spirits seem- 
ed the more uncontrollable from the restraint 
they had undergone, and rose to an extravagant 
height. She played all manner of childish 
tricks on her husband, her foster-parents, and 
even the venerable priest, and when the old 
woman began to check her, one or two words 
from Huldbrand, who gravely called Undine 
‘ ‘ his wife, ’ ’ reduced her to silence. The knight 
himself, however, was far from being pleased at 
Undine’s childishness ; but no hint or sign 
would stop her. Whenever she perceived his 
disapproving looks — which she occasionally did 
— it subdued her for the moment ; she would 


58 


TnnOine 


sit down by him, whisper something playfully 
in his ear, and so dispel the frown as it gathered 
on his brow. But the next instant some wild 
nonsense would dart into her head, and set her 
off worse than ever. At last the priest said to 
her, in a kind but grave manner : ‘ ‘ My dear 
young lady, no one that beholds you can be se- 
vere upon you, it is true ; but remember, it is 
your duty to keep watch over your soul, that it 
may be ever in harmony with that of your 
wedded husband.” — “Soul!” cried Undine, 
laughing ; ‘ ‘ that sounds very fine, and for most 
people may be very edifying and moral advice. 
But if one has no soul at all, pray how is one to 
keep watch over it? And that is my case.” 
The priest was deeply hurt, and turned away 
his face in mingled sorrow and anger. But she 
came up to him beseechingly, and said : “ Nay, 
hear me before you are angry, for it grieves me 
to see you displeased, and you would not dis- 
tress any creature who has done you no harm. 
Only have patience with me, and I will tell you 
all from the beginning.” 

They saw she was preparing to give them a 


'ClnOine 


59 


regular history ; but she stopped short, appear- 
ing thrilled by some secret recollection, and 
burst into a flood of gentle tears. They were 
quite at a loss what to think of her, and gazed 
upon her, distressed from various causes. At 
length drying her eyes, she looked at the priest 
earnestly and said: “There must be much to 
love in a soul, but much that is awful too. For 
God’s sake, holy father, tell me — were it not 
better to be still without one?” She waited 
breathlessly for an answer, restraining her tears. 
Her hearers had all risen from their seats, and 
now stepped back from her, shuddering. She 
seemed to have no eyes but for the saintly man ; 
her countenance assumed an expression of anx- 
iety and awe which yet more alarmed the 
others. ‘ ‘ Heavy must be the burden of a soul, ’ ’ 
added she, as no one answered her, — “ heavy 
indeed ! for the mere approach of mine over- 
shadows me with anxious melancholy. And 
ah ! how light-hearted, how joyous I used to 
be ! ” A fresh burst of weeping overcame her, 
and she covered her face with her veil. 

The priest then approached her with much 


6o 


TllnDfne 


gravity, and adjured her by the holiest names 
to confess the truth, if any evil lurked in her, 
unknown to them. But she fell on her knees 
before him, repeated after him all his words of 
piety, gave praise to God, and declared she w^as 
in charity with all the world. The priest turned 
to the young knight. “Sir bridegroom,” said 
he, ‘ ‘ I leave you alone with her whom I have 
made your wife. As far as I can discover, there 
is no evil, although much that is mysterious in 
her. I exhort you to be sober, loving, and faith- 
ful.” So he went out; and the old people 
followed, crossing themselves. 

Undine was still on her knees ; she uncovered 
her face and looked timidly at Huldbrand, say- 
ing : “ Ah, thou wilt surely cast me oif now ; and 
yet I have done nothing wrong, poor, poor child 
that I am ! ” This she said with so touching 
and gentle an expression that her husband for- 
got all the gloom and mystery that had chilled 
his heart ; he hastened toward her and raised 
her in his arms. She smiled through her tears 
— it was like the glow of dawn shining upon 
a clear fountain. “Thou canst not. forsake 


■ClnMne 


6i 


me ! ” whispered she in accents of the firmest 
reliance ; and she stroked his cheeks with her 
soft little hands. He tried to shake off the 
gloomy thoughts which still lurked in a comer 
of his mind, suggesting to him that he had 
married a fairy, or some shadowy being from 
the world of spirits ; one question, however, he 
could not help asking : “ My dear little Undine, 
just tell me one thing ; what was that you said 
about spirits of earth and Kiihleborn, when the 
priest knocked at the door ? ” — “ All nonsense ! ’ ’ 
said Undine, laughing, with her usual gayety. 
“ First I frightened you with it, and then you 
frightened me. And that is the end of the story, 
and of our wedding-day!” — “No, it is not 
over,” said her now delighted lover; he extin- 
guished the tapers, and by the light of the 
moon, which beamed brightly through the case- 
ment, he carried his beautiful wife into the 
bridal chamber. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

THE DAY AFTER THE MARRIAGE. 
BRIGHT morning light wakened the young 



people ; and Huldbrand lay musing si- 
lently. As often as he had dropped asleep, he 
had been scared by horrible dreams of spectres, 
who suddenly took the forms of fair women who 
were transformed into dragons. And when he 
started up from these grim visions, and saw the 
pale, cold moonlight streaming in at the win- 
dow, he would turn an anxious look toward Un- 
dine ; she lay slumbering in undisturbed beauty 
and peace. Then he would compose himself to 
sleep again — soon again to wake in terror. 
When he looked back upon all this in broad 
daylight, he was angry with himself for having 
let a suspicion, a shade of distrust of his beauti- 
ful wife, enter his mind. He frankly confessed 


mnOine 


63 


to her this injustice ; she answered him only by 
pressing his hand, and sighing from the bottom 
of her heart. But a look, such as her eyes had 
never before given, of the deepest and most 
confiding tenderness, left him no doubt that she 
forgave him. So he arose cheerfully, and joined 
the family in the sitting-room. The three oth- 
ers were gathered round the hearth, looking un- 
easy, and neither of them having ventured to 
speak his thoughts yet. The priest seemed to 
be secretly praying for deliverance from evil. 
But when the young husband appeared, beam- 
ing with happiness, the careworn faces bright- 
ened up ; nay, the fisherman ventured upon a 
few courteous jokes with the knight, which won 
a smile even from the good housewife. Mean- 
while Undine had dressed herself, and now came 
in ; they could not help rising to meet her, and 
stood still, astonished ; the young creature was 
the same, yet so different. The priest was the 
first to address her, with an air of paternal kind- 
ness, and when he raised his hands in benedic- 
tion, the fair woman sank on her knees, trem- 
bling with pious awe. In a few meek and 


64 


TUnDine 


humble words, she begged him to forgive the 
folly of the day before, and besought him, with 
great emotion, to pray for the salvation of her 
soul. Then rising, she kissed her foster-parents, 
and thanking them for all their kindness, she 
said : “ Oh ! now I feel from the bottom of my 
heart how much you have done for me, how 
deeply grateful I ought to be, dear, dear peo- 
ple!” She seemed as if she could not caress 
them enough ; but soon, observing the dame 
glance toward the breakfast, she went toward 
the hearth, busied herself arranging and pre- 
paring the meal, and would not suffer the good 
woman to take the least trouble herself. 

So she went on all day — at once a young ma- 
tron, and a bashful, tender, delicate bride. The 
three who knew her best were every moment 
expecting this mood to change, and give place 
to one of her crazy fits ; but they watched her 
in vain. There was still the same angelic mild- 
ness and sweetness. The priest could not keep 
his eyes awav from her ; and he said more than 
once to the bridegroom . “ Sir, it was a great 

treasure which Heaven bestowed upon you yes- 


TUnOfne 


65 


terday, by my poor ministration ; cherish her 
worthily, and she will be to you a blessing in 
time and eternity.” 

Toward evening, Undine clasped the knight’s 
arm with modest tenderness, and gently led him 
out before the door, where the rays of the set- 
ting sun were lighting up the fresh grass, and 
the tall, taper stems of trees. The young wife’s 
face wore a melting expression of love and sad- 
ness, and her lips quivered with some anxious, 
momentous secret, which as yet betrayed itself 
only by scarce audible sighs. She silently led 
her companion onward ; if he spoke, she replied 
by a look which gave him no direct answer, but 
revealed a whole heaven of love and timid sub- 
mission. So they reached the banks of the 
stream which had overflowed, and the knight 
started on finding the wild torrent changed into 
a gentle rippling brook, without a trace of its 
former violence left. “ By to-morrow it will 
have dried up completely,” said the bride, in a 
faltering voice, “ and thou mayest begone 
whither thou wilt.” — “Not without thee, my 
Undine,” said the knight, playfully ; “consider. 


66 


•Qm^ine 


if I had a mind to forsake thee, the Church, the 
Bmperor, and his ministers might step in, and 
bring thy truant home.” — “No, no, you are 
free ; it shall be as you please ! ” murmured 
Undine, half tears, half smiles. “But I think 
thou wilt not cast me away ; is not my heart 
bound up in thine ? Carry me over to that little 
island opposite. There I will know my fate. I 
could indeed easily step through the little 
waves ; but I love to rest in thine arms ! and 
thou mayest cast me oif ; this may be the last 
time.” Huldbrand, full of anxious emotion, 
knew not how to answer. He took her up in 
his arms, and carried her over, now recollecting 
that from this very island he had borne her 
home to the fisherman, on the night of his ar- 
rival. When there, he placed his fair burden 
on the turf, and was going to sit down by her ; 
but she said : “ No, sit there, opposite me — I 

will read my doom in your eyes, before your 
lips have spoken it. Now listen, and I will tell 
you all.” And she began : 

“You must know, my own love, that in each 
element exists a race of beings, whose form 


'Oln^ine 


67 


scarcely differs from yours, but who very sel- 
dom appear to mortal sight. In the flames the 
wondrous Salamanders glitter and disport them- 
selves ; in the depths of earth dwell the dry, 
spiteful race of Gnomes ; the forests are peopled 
by Wood-nymphs, who are also spirits of air ; 
and the seas, the rivers, and brooks contain the 
numberless tribes of Water-sprites. Their echo- 
ing halls of crystal, where the light of heaven 
pours in, with its sun and stars, are glorious to 
dwell in ; the gardens contain beautiful coral 
plants, with blue and red fruits ; they wander 
over bright sea-sands, and gay-colored shells, 
among the hidden treasures of the old world, 
too precious to be bestowed on these latter 
days, and long since covered by the silver 
mantle of the deep ; many a noble monument 
still gleams there below, bedewed by the tears 
of Ocean, who garlands it with flowery sea- 
weeds and wreaths of shells. Those that dwell 
there below are noble and lovely to behold, far 
more so than mankind. Many a fisherman has 
had 'a passing glimpse of some fair water- 
nymph, rising out of the sea with her song ; he 


68 


•ClnDine 


would then spread the report of her apparition, 
and these wonderful beings came to be called 
Undines. And you now see before you, my 
love, an Undine.” 

The knight tried to persuade himself that his 
fair wife was in one of her wild moods, and had 
invented this strange tale in sport. But, though 
he said this to himself, he could not for a mo- 
ment believe it ; a mysterious feeling thrilled 
him ; and, unable to utter a word, he kept his 
eyes riveted on the beautiful speaker. She shook 
her head sadly, heaved a deep sigh, and went on : 

“We might be happier than our human fel- 
low-creatures (for we call you fellow-creatures, 
as our forms are alike), but for one great evil. 
We, and the other children of the elements, go 
down to the dust, body and spirit ; not a trace 
of us remains ; and, when the time comes for 
you to rise again to a glorified existence, we 
shall have perished with our native sands, 
flames, winds, and waves. For we have no 
souls ; the elements move us, obey us while we 
live, close over us when we die ; and we light 
spirits live as free from care as the nightingale, 


TIlnDine 


69 


the gold-fish, and all such bright children of 
Nature. But no creatures rest content in their 
appointed place. My father, who is a mighty 
prince in the Mediterranean Sea, determined 
that his only child should be endowed with a 
soul, even at the cost of much suffering, which 
is ever the lot of souls. But a soul can be in- 
fused into one of our race only by being united 
in the closest bands of love to one of yours. 
And now I have obtained a soul ; to thee I owe 
it, O best beloved ! and for that gift I shall ever 
bless thee, unless thou dost devote my whole 
futurity to misery. For what is to become of 
me should thou recoil from me, and cast me 
off? Yet I would not detain thee by deceit. 
And if I am to leave thee, say so now ; go back 
to the land alone. I will plunge into this 
brook ; it is my uncle, who leads a wonderful, 
sequestered life in this forest, away from all his 
friends. But he is powerful, and allied to many 
great rivers ; and, as he brought me here to the 
fisherman, a gay and laughing child, so he is 
ready to take me back to my parents, a loving, 
suffering, forsaken woman.” 


70 


'ClnDine 


She would have gone on ; but Huldbrand, 
full of compassion and love, caught her in his 
arms and carried her back. There, with tears 
and kisses, he swore never to forsake his be- 
loved wife ; and said he felt more blessed than 
the Greek statuary Pygmalion, whose beautiful 
statue Dame Venus transformed into a living- 
woman. Hanging on his arm in peaceful reli- 
ance, Undine returned ; and she felt from her 
inmost heart how little cause she had to regret 
the crystal palaces of her father. 




CHAPTER IX. 

HOW THE KNIGHT AND HIS YOUNG BRIDE 
DEPARTED. 



HEN Huldbrand awoke from sleep the 


^ ' next morning, he missed his fair compan- 
ion ; and again he was tormented with a doubt 
whether his marriage and the lovely Undine 
might not be all a fairy dream. But she soon 
reappeared, came up to him, and said : “ I have 
been out early, to see if my uncle had kept his 
word. He has recalled all the straying waters 
into his quiet bed, and now takes his lonely 
and pensive course through the forest as he 
used to do. His friends in the lake and the air 
are gone to rest also ; all things have returned 
to their usual calmness ; and you may set out 
homeward on dry land as soon as you please.” 
Huldbrand felt as if dreaming still, so little 
could he understand his wife’s wonderful rela- 


72 


TllnOinc 


tions. But lie took no notice of this, and his 
sweet Undine’s gentle attentions soon charmed 
every uneasy thought away. 

A little while after, as they stood at the door 
together, looking over the fair scene with its 
boundary of clear waters, his heart yearned so 
toward this cradle of his love that he said : 
“ But why should we go away so soon ? we 
shall never spend happier days in yonder world 
than we have passed in this peaceful nook. 
Uet us at least see two or three more suns go 
down here.” — “As my lord wishes, ” answered 
Undine, with cheerful submission; “but, you 
see, the old people will be grieved at parting 
with me, whenever it is ; and if we give them 
time to become acquainted with my soul, and 
with its new powers of loving and honoring 
them, I fear that when I go their aged hearts 
will break under the load of sorrow. As yet, 
they take my gentle mood for a passing whim, 
such as they saw me liable to formerly, like a 
calm on the lake when the winds are lulled ; 
and they will soon begin to love some favorite 
tree or flower in my place. They must not 





74 


'dnDlne 


learn to know this newly obtained, affectionate 
heart, in the first overflowings of its tenderness, 
just at the moment when they are to lose me 
for this world ; and how could I disguise it 
from them if we remained together longer ? ” 

Huldbrand agreed with her ; he went to the 
old couple, and finding them ready to consent, 
he resolved upon setting out that very hour. 
The priest offered to accompany them ; after a 
hasty farewell the pretty bride was placed on 
the horse by her husband, and they crossed the 
stream’s dry bed quickly, and entered the for- 
est. Undine shed silent but bitter tears, while 
the old folks wailed after her aloud. It seemed 
as if some foreboding were crossing their minds, 
of how great their loss would prove. 

The three travellers reached the deepest 
shades of the forest without breaking silence. 
It was a fair sight to behold, as they passed 
through the leafy bowers : the graceful woman 
sitting on her noble steed, guarded on one side 
by the venerable priest in the white habit of his 
order ; on the other, by the youthful knight, 
with his gorgeous attire and glittering sword. 


'QlnOine 


75 


Huldbrand had no eyes but for his precious 
wife ; Undine, who had dried her duteous tears, 
no thought but for him ; and they soon fell into 
a noiseless interchange of glances and signs, 
which at length was interrupted by the sound 
of a low murmur, proceeding from the priest 
and a fourth fellow-traveller, who had joined 
them unobserved. He wore a white robe, very 
like the priest’s dress, except that the hood 
almost covered his face, and the rest of it float- 
ed round him in such large folds that he was 
perpetually obliged to gather it up, throw it 
over his arm, or otherwise arrange it ; yet it did 
not seem to impede him at all in walking. 
When the young people saw him he was saying * 
“ And so, my worthy father, I have dwelt in the 
forest for many a year, yet I am not what you 
commonly call a hermit. For, as I told you, I 
know nothing of penance, nor do I think it 
would do me much good. What makes me so 
fond of the woods is, that I have a very partic- 
ular fancy for winding through the dark shades 
and forest walks, with my loose white clothes 
floating about me ; now and then a pretty sun- 


76 


TIlnDtne 


beam will glance over me as I go.” — “You 
seem to be a very curious person,” replied the 
priest, “ and I should like to know more about 
you.” — “And pray who are you, to carry on 
the acquaintance ? ” said the stranger. — “ They 
call me Father Heilmann,” answered the priest, 
“ and I belong to St. Mary’s Monastery, beyond 
the lake.” — “Ay, ay!” rejoined the other. 
“ My name is Kiihleborn, and if I stood upon 
ceremony, I might call myself Lord of Kiihle- 
born, or Baron (Freiherr) Kiihleborn ; for free 
I am, as the bird of the air, or a trifle more free. 
For instance, I must now have a word with the 
young woman there.” And before they could 
look round he was on the other side of the 
priest, close to Undine, and stretching up his 
tall figure to whisper in her ear. But she 
turned hastily away, saying : “I have nothing 
more to do with you now.” — “ Heyday I ” said 
the stranger, laughing, “ what a prodigiously 
grand marriage yours must be, if you are to cast 
off your relations in this way ! Have you for- 
gotten Uncle Kiihleborn, who brought you all 
the way here on his back so kindly ? ” 


•ClnDme 


77 


“ But I entreat you,” said Undine, “ never 
come to me again. I am afraid of you now ; 
and will not my husband become afraid of me, 
if he. finds I have so strange a family ?” — “ My 
little niece,” said Kiihleborn, “please to re- 
member that I am protecting you all this time ; 
the foul spirits of earth might play you trouble- 
some tricks if I did not. So you had better let 
me go on with you, and no more words. The 
old priest there has a better memory than yours, 
for he would have it he knew my face very well, 
and that I must have been with him in the boat, 
when he fell into the water. And he may well 
say so, seeing that the wave which washed him 
over was none but myself, and I landed him safe 
on the shore, in time for your wedding.” 

Undine and the knight looked at Father Heil- 
mann, but he seemed to be plodding on in a 
waking dream, and not listening to what was 
said. Undine said to Kiihlebom : “ There, I can 
see the end of the wood ; we want your help no 
longer, and there is nothing to disturb us but 
you. So, in love and kindness, I entreat you, 
begone, and let us go in peace.” This seemed 


78 


•QlnMne 


to make Kuhleborn angry ; he twisted his face 
hideously, and hissed at Undine, who cried 
aloud for help. Like lightning the knight 
passed round her horse, and aimed a blow at 
Kuhleborn ’s head with his sword. But instead 
of the head, he struck into a water-fall, which 
gushed foaming down a high cliff near them, 
and now showered them all with a splash that 
sounded like laughter, and wetted them to the 
bone. The priest, seeming to wake up, said : 
“ Well, I was expecting this, because that brook 
gushed down the rock so close to us. At first 
I could not shake off the idea that it was a man, 
and was speaking to me. ” The water-fall whis- 
pered distinctly in Huldbrand’s ear : “ Rash 
youth, dashing youth, I chide thee not, I shame 
thee not ; still shield thy precioua wife safe and 
sure, rash young soldier, dashing knight ! ’ ’ 

A little farther on they emerged into the open 
plains. The city lay glittering before them, and 
the evening sun that gilded her towers, lent its 
grateful warmth to dry their soaked garments. 



CHAPTER X. 

OP their way of life in the town. 
HE sudden disappearance of the young 



* Knight Huldbrand of Ringstetten had made 
a great stir in the city, and distressed the in- 
habitants, with whom his gallantry in the lists 
and the dance, and his gentle, courteous man- 
ners, had made him very popular. His retain- 
ers would not leave the place without their 
master, but yet none had the courage to seek 
him in the haunted forest. They therefore re- 
mained in their hostlery, idly hoping, as men 
are so apt to do, and keeping alive their remem- 
brance of their lost lord by lamentations. But 
soon after, when the tempest raged and the 
rivers overflowed, few doubted that the hand- 
some stranger must have perished. Bertalda, 



8o 


TUnDlne 


among others, mourned him for lost, and was 
ready to curse herself, for having urged him to 
the fatal ride through the forest. Her ducal 
foster-parents had arrived to take her away, but 
she prevailed upon them to wait a little, in hope 
that a true report of Huldbrand’s death or safety 
might reach them. She tried to persuade some 
one of the young knights who contended for her 
favor, to venture into the forest and seek the 
noble adventurer. But she would not offer her 
hand as the reward, because she still hoped to 
bestow it some day on the wanderer himself; 
and to obtain a glove, a scarf, or some such to- 
ken from her, none of them cared to expose his 
life to bring back so dangerous a rival. 

Now, when Huldbrand unexpectedly reap- 
peared, it spread joy among his servants, and 
all the people generally, except Bertalda ; for 
while the others were pleased at his bringing 
with him such a beautiful wife, and Father 
Heilmann to bear witness to their marriage, it 
could not but grieve her: first, because the 
young knight had really won her heart ; and 
next, because she had betrayed her feelings by 


tln&ine 


8i 


so openly lamenting his absence, far more than 
was now becoming. However, she behaved like 
a prudent woman, and suited her conduct to the 
circumstances, by living in the most cordial in- 
timacy with Undine, who passed in the town 
for a princess, released by Huldbrand from the 
power of some wicked enchanter of the forest. 
If she or her husband were questioned about it, 
they gave evasive answers ; Father Heilmann’s 
lips were sealed on all such idle topics, besides 
which, he had left them soon after they arrived, 
and returned to his cloister : so the citizens were 
left to their own wondering conjectures, and 
even Bertalda came no nearer the truth than 
others. 

Meanwhile, Undine grew daily more fond of 
this winning damsel. “We must have known 
each other before,” she would often say, “or 
else some secret attraction draws us toward each 
other ; for without some cause, some strange, 
mysterious cause, I am sure nobody would love 
another as I have loved you from the moment 
we met.” Bertalda, on her part, could not deny 
that she felt strongly inclined to like Undine, 


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notwithstanding the grounds of complaint she 
thought she had against this happy rival. The 
affection being mutual, the one persuaded her 
parents, the other her wedded lord, to defer the 
day of departure repeatedly ; they even went so 
far as to propose that Bertalda should accom- 
pany Undine to the castle of Ringstetten, near 
the source of the Danube. 

They were talking of this one fine even- 
ing, as they sauntered by starlight round the 
market-place, which was surrounded by high 
trees. The young couple had invited Bertalda 
to join their evening stroll, and they now paced 
backward and forward in pleasant talk, with 
the dark blue sky over their heads, and a beau- 
tiful fountain before them in the centre, which, 
as it bubbled and sprang up into fanciful shapes, 
often caught their attention, and interrupted 
the conversation. All around them was serene 
and pleasant ; through the foliage gleamed the 
light of many a lamp from the surrounding 
houses ; and the ear was soothed by the hum 
of children at play, and of sauntering groups 
like themselves. They enjoyed at once the 


xanDine 


83 


pleasure of solitude, and the social happiness 
of being near the cheerful haunts of men. 
Every little difficulty that had occurred to their 
favorite plan, seemed to vanish upon nearer 
examination, and the three friends could not 
imagine that Bertalda’s consent to the journey 
need be delayed a moment. But as she was on 
the point of naming a day for joining them and 
setting out, a very tall man came forward from 
the middle of the place, bowed to them respect- 
fully and began whispering in Undine’s ear. 
She, though apparently displeased with the in- 
terruption and with the speaker, stepped aside 
with him, and they began a low discourse to- 
gether, in what sounded like a foreign language. 
Huldbrand thought he knew this strange man’s 
face, and fixed his attention upon him so earn- 
estly, that he neither heard nor answered the 
astonished Bertalda’s questions. All at once 
Undine clapped her hands joyfully, and turned 
her back, laughing, upon the stranger ; he 
shook his head and walked off in an angry, 
hurried manner, and stepped into the fountain. 
This confirmed Huldbrand in his guess ; while 


84 


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Bertalda inquired : “My dear Undine, what 
business had that man of the fountain with 
you? ” Her friend smiled archly and replied : 
“ On your birthday, the day after to-morrow, 
I will tell you, my sweet girl ” ; and she would 
say no more. She only pressed Bertalda to come 
and dine with them on that day, and bring her 
foster-parents ; after which they separated. 

“ Kiihleborn ? ” said Huldbrand to his wife 
with a suppressed shudder, as they walked home 
through the dark streets. “Yes, it was he,” 
replied Undine ; “and he tried to put all sorts 
of nonsense into my head. However, without 
intending it, he delighted me by one piece of 
news. If you wish to hear it, now, my kind 
lord, you have but to say so, and I will tell you 
every word. But if you like to give your Un- 
dine a very great delight, you will wait two days, 
and then have your share in the surprise. ’ ’ 

The knight readily granted her what she had 
asked so meekly and gracefully ; and as she 
dropped asleep she murmured : ‘ ‘ How it will de- 
light her ! how little she expects such a message 
from the mysterious man — dear, dear Bertalda ! ” 



CHAPTER XI. 

BERTAIvDA’S birthday. 

HE guests were now assembled at table ; 



^ Bertalda sat at the top, adorned with 
flowers like the goddess of spring, and flashing 
with jewels, the gifts of many friends and rela- 
tions. Undine and Huldbrand were on either 
side of her. When the sumptuous meal was 
ended, and the dessert served, the doors were 
opened — according to the good old German 
custom — to let the common people look in and 
have their share in the gayety of the rich. The 
attendants offered wine and cake to the assem- 
bled crowd. Huldbrand and Bertalda were 
eagerly watching for the promised disclosure, 
and both kept their eyes fixed upon Undine. 
But she was still silent ; her cheeks dimpled 
occasionally with a bright, conscious smile. 
Those that knew what she was about to do, 


% 


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'ClnDine 


could perceive that her interesting secret was 
ready to burst from her lips, but that she was 
playfully determined to keep it in, as children 
sometimes will save their daintiest morsels to 
the last. Her silent glee communicated itself 
to the other two, who watched impatiently for 
the happy news that was about to gladden their 
hearts. Some of the company now asked Un- 
dine for a song. She seemed to be prepared 
with one, and sent for her lute, to which she 
sang as follows : 

The sun gilds the wave, 

The flowers are sweet, 

And the ocean doth lave 
The grass at our feet ! 

What lies on the earth 
So blooming and gay ? 

Doth a blossom peep forth 
And g^eet the new day ? 

Ah, ’t is a fair child ! 

She sports with the flowers, 

So gladsome and mild, 

Through the warm sunny hours. 

O sweet one, who brought thee ? 

From far distant shore 

Old Ocean he caught thee. 

And many a league bore. 


UlnOine 


87 


Poor babe, all in vain 
Thou dost put forth thy hand ; 

None clasp it again, 

’T is a bleak foreign land : 

' The flowers bloom brightly, 

And soft breathes the air. 

But all pass thee lightly : 

Thy mother is far ! 

Thy life scarce begun. 

Thy smiles fresh from heaven, 

Thy best treasure is gone. 

To another ’t is given ! 

A gallant charger treads the dell. 

His noble rider pities thee ; 

He takes thee home, he tends thee well. 
And cares for thee right gen’rously. 

Well thou becom’st thy station high. 
And bloom’st the fairest in the land ; 

And yet, alas ! the purest joy 
Is left on thine own distant strand. 


Undine put down her lute with a melancholy 
smile ; and the eyes of the duke and duchess 
filled with tears. “So it was when I foundyou, 
my poor innocent orphan ! ” said the duke with 
great emotion. “ As the fair singer said, your 
best treasure was gone, and we have been una- 
ble to supply its place. ’* 


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Now let us think of the poor parents,” said 
Undine ; and she struck the chords and sang ; 

T. 

Mother roves from room to room 
Seeking rest, she knows not how ; 

The house is silent as the tomb, 

And who is- there to bless her now ? 


II. 

Silent house ! O words of sorrow ! 

Where is now her darling child ? 

She who should have cheered the morrow, 
And the evening hours beguiled? 


m. 

The buds are swelling on the tree. 

The sun returns when night is o’er ; 

But, mother, ne’er comes joy to thee. 

Thy child shall bless thine eyes no more ! 

IV. 

And when the evening breezes blow. 

And father seeks his own fireside. 

He smiles, forgetful of his woe. 

But ah ! his tears that smile shall hide. 


V. 

Father knows that in his home 
Deathlike stillness dwells for aye ; 

The voice of mirth no more shall come, 

And mother sighs the livelong day. 

“ O Undine, for God’s sake, where are my 
parents?” cried Bertalda, weeping. “Surely 


UlnDlne 


89 


you know, you have discovered it, most wonder- 
ful woman ; else how could you have stirred my 
inmost heart as you have done ? They are per- 
haps even now in the room — can it be ? ” — and 
her eyes glanced over the gay assembly, and 
fixed upon a reigning princess who sat next to 
the duke. But Undine bent forward to the door, 
her eyes overflowing with the happiest tears. 
“ Where are they, the poor anxious parents ! ’’ 
said she ; and the old fisherman and his wife 
came out from the crowd of by-standers. They 
turned an inquiring eye upon Undine, and then 
upon the handsome lady whom they were to 
call daughter. “There she is,” faltered the 
delighted Undine, and the aged couple caught 
their long-lost child in their arms, thanking 
God, and weeping aloud. 

AfiBrighted and enraged, Bertalda shrank from 
their embrace. It was more than her proud 
spirit could bear, to be thus degraded ; at a mo- 
ment, too, when she was fully expecting an in- 
crease of splendor, and fancy was showering 
pearls and diadems upon her head. She sus- 
pected that her rival had contrived this, on pur- 


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pose to mortify her before Huldbrand and all 
the world. She reviled both Undine and the 
old people; the hateful words, “Treacherous 
creature ! and bribed wretches ! ” burst from 
her lips. The old woman said in a half whis- 
per: “Dear me, she has grown up a wicked 
woman ; and yet my heart tells me she is my 
own child.” The fisherman had clasped his 
hands, and was praying silently that this girl 
might not prove to be theirs indeed. Undine, 
pale as death, looked from Bertalda to the par- 
ents, from the parents to Bertalda, and could 
not recover the rude shock she had sustained, 
at being plunged from all her happy dreams 
into a state of fear and misery, such as she had 
never known before. 

‘ ‘ Have you a soul ? Have you indeed a soul, 
Bertalda? ” she exclaimed once or twice, trying 
to recall her angry friend to reason, from what 
she took for a fit of madness, or a kind of night- 
mare. But Bertalda only stormed the louder ; 
the repulsed parents wailed piteously, and the 
company began to dispute angrily and to side 
with one or the other ; when Undine stepped 


Tan^mc 


91 


forward, and asked with so much earnest gen- 
tleness to be listened to in her husband’s house, 
that all was hushed in a moment. She took the 
place which Bertalda had left, at the head of the 
table, and as she stood there in modest dignity, 
the eyes of all toward her, she said: “You all 
that cast such angry looks at each other, and so 
cruelly spoil the joy of my poor feast, alas ! I 
little knew what your foolish angry passions 
were, and I think I never shall understand you. 
What I had hoped would do so much good has 
led to all this ; but that is not my fault — it is 
your own doing — believe me ; I have little more 
to say, but one thing you must hear : I have 
told no falsehood. Proofs I have none to give, 
beyond my word, but I will swear to the truth 
of it. I heard it from him who decoyed Ber- 
talda from her parents into the water, and then 
laid her down in the meadow where the duke 
was to pass.” 

“ She is a sorceress,” cried Bertalda, “ a witch 
who has dealings with evil spirits ! she has 
acknowledged it.” 

“ I have not,” said Undine, with a heaven of 


TanMne 


92 

innocence and guilelessness in her eyes. “Nor 
am I a witch — only look at me ! ’’ 

“Then she lies,” cried Bertalda,” “and she 
dares not assert that I was bom of these mean 
people. My noble parents, I beseech you take 
me out of this room, and this town, where .they 
are leagued together to insult me.” 

But the venerable duke stood still, and his 
lady said : “ We must first sift this matter to the 
bottom. Nothing shall make me leave the room 
till my doubts are satisfied.” 

Then the old woman came up, made a deep 
obeisance to the duchess, and said : “You give 
me courage to speak, my noble, worthy lady. 
I must tell you that if this ungodly young wo- 
man is my daughter, I shall know her by a vio- 
let mark between her shoulders, and another on 
the left instep. If she would but come with me 

into another room ” 

“I will not uncover myself before that coun- 
try-woman,” said Bertalda, proudly turning 
away. 

“ But before me you will,” rejoined the duch- 
ess, gravely. “You shall go with me into that 


■QlnDine 


93 


room, young woman, and the good dame will 
accompany us. ” They withdrew together, leav- 
ing the party in silent suspense. In a few min- 
utes they came back ; Bertalda was deadly 
pale, and the duchess said : “ Truth is truth, and 
I am bound to declare that our lady hostess has 
told us perfectly right. Bertalda is the fisher- 
man’s daughter ; more than that it concerns 
nobody to know.” And the princely pair de- 
parted, taking with them their adopted child, 
and followed (upon a sign from the duke) by 
the fisherman and his wife. The rest of the 
assembly broke up in silence or with secret 
murmurs, and Undine sank into Huldbrand’s 
arms, weeping bitterly. 




CHAPTER XII. 

HOW THEY EEFT THE IMPERIAL CITY. 
HERE was certainly much to displease the 



* Lord of Ringstetten in the events of this 
day ; yet he could not look back upon them 
without feeling proud of the guileless truth and 
the generosity of heart shown by his lovely 
wife. “If, indeed, her soul was my gift,” 
thought he, “it is nevertheless much better 
than my own ’ ’ ; and he devoted himself to the 
task of soothing her grief, and determined he 
would take her away the next morning from a 
spot now so full of bitter recollections. 

They were mistaken, however, in thinking 
that she had lost in the eyes of the world by this 
adventure. So prepared were the minds of the 
people to find something mysterious in her. 


'ClnOfne 


95 

that her strange discovery of Bertalda’s origin 
scarcely surprised them ; while, on the other 
hand, every one that heard of Bertalda’s history 
and of her passionate behavior was moved with 
indignation. Of this the knight and Undine 
were not aware ; nor would it have given them 
any comfort, for she was still as jealous of Ber- 
talda’s good name as of her own. Upon the 
whole, they had no greater wish than to leave 
the town without delay. 

At daybreak next morning, Undine’s chariot 
was in readiness at the door, and the steeds of 
Huldbrand and of his squires stood around it, 
pawing the ground with impatience. As the 
knight led his fair bride to the door, a fishing- 
girl accosted them. “We want no fish” said 
Huldbrand; “we are just going away.” The 
girl began to sob bitterly, and they then recog- 
nized her as Bertalda. They immediately turned 
back into the house with her ; and she said that 
the duke and duchess had been so incensed at 
her violence the day before as to withdraw their 
protection from her, though not without giving 
her a handsome allowance. The fisherman, 


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too, had received a liberal gift, and had departed 
that evening with his wife to return to the 
promontory. “ I would have gone with them,” 
she continued, “but the old fisherman, whom 
they call my father ” 

“And so he is, Bertalda,” interrupted Undine. 
“He is your father. For the man you saw at 
the fountain told me how it is. He was trying 
to persuade me that I had better not take you 
to Ringstetten, and he let drop the secret.” 

“Well, then,” said Bertalda, “my father — if 
so it must be — my father said : ‘You shall not 
live with us till you are an altered creature. 
Take courage and come across the haunted for- 
est to us ; that will show that you sincerely 
wish to belong to your parents. But do not 
come in your finery ; be like what you are, a 
fisherman’s daughter.’ And I will do as he bids 
me ; for the whole world has forsaken me, and 
I have nothing left but to live and die humbly 
in a poor hut, alone with my lonely parents. I 
do dread the forest very much. They say it is 
full of grim spectres, and I am so timid ! But 
what can I do ? I came here only to implore 


TIlnt)tne 


97 


the lyady of Ringstetten’s pardon for my rude 
language yesterday. I have no doubt you meant 
what you did kindly, noble dame ; but you lit- 
tle knew what a trial your words would be to 
me, and I was so alarmed and bewildered that 
many a hasty, wicked word escaped my lips. 
Ah, forgive me, forgive me ! I am unhappy 
enough already. Only consider what I was yes- 
terday morning, even at the beginning of your 
feast, and what I am now.” 

Her words were lost in a flood of bitter tears, 
and Undine, equally affected, fell weeping on 
her neck. It was long before her emotion 
would let her speak ; at length she said : “You 
shall go to Ringstetten with us ; all shall be as 
we had settled it before ; only call me Undine 
again, and not ‘ lady ’ and ‘ noble dame.’ You 
see, we began by being exchanged in our cra- 
dles ; our lives have been linked from that 
hour, and we will try to bind them so closely 
that no human power shall sever us. Come 
with us to Ringstetten, and all will be well. 
We will live like sisters there ; trust me for 
arranging that.” Bertalda looked timidly at 


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Huldbrand. The sight of this beautiful for- 
saken maiden affected him ; he gave her his 
hand, and encouraged her kindly to trust her- 
self to him and his wife. “ As to your parents, ’ ’ 
said he, “ we will let them know why you do 
not appear” ; and he would have said much 
more concerning the good old folks, but he 
observed that Bertalda shuddered at the men- 
tion of them, and therefore dropped the sub- 
ject. He gave her his arm, placed first her and 
then Undine in the carriage, and rode cheerfully 
after them ; he urged the drivers on so effectu- 
ally that they very soon found themselves out 
of sight of the city, and beyond the reach of sad 
recollections — and the two ladies could fully 
enjoy the beautiful country through which the 
road wound along. 

After a few days’ travelling, they arrived, one 
sunny evening, at the castle of Ringstetten. 
Its young lord had much business with his 
steward and laborers to occupy him, so that 
Undine was left alone with Bertalda. They 
took a walk on the high ramparts of the castle, 
and admired the rich Swabian landscape, which 


'dnOinc 


99 


lay far and wide around them. A tall man sud- 
denly came up, with a courteous obeisance ; 
and Bertalda could not help thinking him very 
like the ominous man of the fountain. The 
likeness struck her still more, when, upon an 
impatient and even menacing gesture of Un- 
dine’s he went away with the same hasty step 
and shake of the head as before. 

“Do not be afraid, dear Bertalda,” said Un- 
dine, “ the ugly man shall not harm you this 
time.” After which she told her whole history, 
beginning from her birth, and how they had 
been exchanged in their earliest childhood. At 
first her friend looked at her with serious 
alarm ; she thought that Undine was possessed 
by some delirium. But she became convinced 
it was all true, as she listened to the well-con- 
nected narrative, which accounted so well for 
the strange events of the last months ; besides 
which, there is something in genuine truth 
which finds an answer in every heart, and can 
hardly be mistaken. She was bewildered when 
she found herself one of the actors in a living 
fairy tale, and as wild a tale as any she had 


lOO 


Tlln&iite 


read. She gazed upon Undine with reverence, 
but could not help feeling a chill thrown over 
her affection for her ; and that evening, at 
supper-time, she wondered at the knight’s fond 
love and familiarity toward a being whom she 
now looked upon as rather a spirit than a 
human creature. 






CHAPTER XIII. 

HOW THEY EIVED IN THE CASTLE OF RING- 
STETTEN. 

S he who relates this tale is moved to the 



heart by it, and hopes that it may affect 
his readers too, he entreats of them one favor, 
namely, that they will bear with him while he 
passes rapidly over a long space of time ; and 
be content if he barely touches upon what hap- 
pened therein. He knows well that some would 
relate in great detail, step by step, how Huld- 
brand’s heart began to be estranged from 
Undine, and drawn toward Bertalda ; while she 
cared not to disguise from him her ardent love ; 
and how between them the poor injured wife 
came to be rather feared than pitied, — and when 
he showed her kindness, a cold shiver would 
often creep over him, and send him back to the 
child of earth, Bertalda ; — all this, the author 


IC2 


'ClnCJine 


knows, might be dwelt upon ; nay, perhaps it 
ought so to be. But his heart shrinks from 
such a task, for he has met with such passages 
in real life, and cannot even abide their shad- 
ows in his memory. Perhaps, gentle reader, 
such feelings are known to thee also, for they 
are the common lot of mortal man. Well is 
it if thou hast felt, not inflicted, these pangs ; 
in these cases it is more blessed to receive than 
to give. As such recollections wake up from 
their cells, they will but cast a soft shade over 
the past ; and it may be the thought of thy 
withered blossoms, once so fondly loved, bring^ 
a gentle tear down thy cheek. Enough of this ; 
we will not go on to pierce our hearts with a 
thousand separate arrows, but content ourselves 
with saying that so it happened in the present 
instance. 

Poor Undine drooped day by day, and the 
others were neither of them happy ; Bertalda 
especially was uneasy, and ready to suspect the 
injured wife, whenever she fancied herself 
slighted by Huldbrand ; meantime she had 
gradually assumed the command in the house, 


1IlnC)lne 


103 


and the deluded Huldbrand supported her 
openly. Undine looked on in meek resigna- 
tion. To increase the discomfort of their lives, 
there was no end to the mysterious sights and 
sounds that haunted Huldbrand and Bertalda 
in the vaulted galleries of the castle ; such as 
had never been heard of before. The long' 
white man, too well known to him as Uncle 
Kiihleborn, and to her as the spirit of the foun- 
tain, often showed his threatening countenance 
to both ; but chiefly to Bertalda, who had more 
than once been made ill by the fright, and 
thought seriously of leaving the castle. But 
her love for Huldbrand detained her, and she 
quieted her conscience by thinking that it had 
never come to a declaration of love between 
them ; and, besides, she would not have known 
which way to turn. After receiving the Uord 
of Ringstetten’s message that Bertalda was 
with them, the old fisherman had traced a few 
lines, scarcely legible, from infirmity and long 
disuse, saying ; “ I am now a poor old widower, 
for my dear good wife is dead. But, lonely as 
I am by my fireside, I had rather Bertalda 


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stayed away than came here. Provided she 
does not harm my dear Undine ! My curse be 
upon her if she does ! ” Bertalda scattered 
these last words to the winds, but treasured up 
her father’s command that she should not join 
him, as is the way with us selfish beings. 

One day, when Huldbrand had just ridden 
out. Undine sent for her servants and desired 
them to fetch a large stone and carefully to 
stop up the mouth of the magnificent fountain, 
which played in the centre of the court. The 
men objected, that they must then always go 
down the valley to a great distance for water. 
Undine smiled mournfully. “It grieves me to 
add to your burdens, my good friends,” said 
she, “ I had rather go and fill my pitcher my- 
self ; but this fountain must be sealed up. Trust 
me, nothing else will do, and it is our only way 
of escaping a much worse evil.” 

The servants rejoiced at any opportunity of 
pleasing their gentle mistress ; not a word more 
was said, and they lifted the huge stone. They 
had raised it, and were about to let it down on 
the mouth of the spring, when Bertalda ran up. 


Uln^ine 


105 


calling out to them to stop : the water of this 
fountain was the best for her complexion, and 
she never would consent to its being stopped. 
But Undine, instead of yielding as usual, kept 
firmly, though gently, to her resolution ; she 
said that it behooved her, as mistress of the 
house, to order all such matters as appeared 
best to her, and none but her lord and husband 
should call her to account. “Book, O look ! ” 
cried Bertalda, eagerly and angrily, “how the 
poor bright water curls and writhes, because you 
would deprive it of every gleam of sunshine, 
and of the cheerful faces of men, whose mirror 
it was created to be ! ” In truth the spring did 
writhe and bubble up wonderfully, just as if 
some one were trying to force his way through ; 
but Undine pressed them the more to despatch 
the work. Nor was there much need to repeat 
her commands. The household people were 
too glad at once to obey their gentle lady, and 
to mortify the pride of Bertalda, in spite of 
whose threats and wrath the stone , was soon 
firmly fastened down on the mouth of the 
spring. Undine bent over it thoughtfully, and 


io6 


‘UlnC)lne 


wrote on its surface with her delicate fingers. 
Something very hard and sharp must have been 
hidden in her hand ; for when she walked away, 
and the others came up, they found all manner 
of strange characters on the stone, none of which 
were there before. 

When the knight came home that evening, 
Bertalda received him with tears and complaints 
of Undine. He looked sternly at his poor wife, 
who mournfully cast down her eyes, saying, 
however, with firmness: “My lord and hus- 
band would not chide the meanest of his vassals 
without giving him a hearing, much less his 
wedded wife.” “ Speak, then ; what was your 
reason for this strange proceeding?” said the 
knight, with a frown. “I would rather tell it 
you quite alone!” sighed Undine. “You 
can say it just as well in Bertalda’s presence,” 
replied he. “Yes, if thou requirest it,” said 
Undine, “but require it not.” She looked so 
humble, and so submissive in her touching 
beauty, that the knight’s heart was melted, as 
by a sunbeam from h appier days. He took her 
affectionately by the hand, and led her to 


TUnDinc 


107 


his own room, where she spoke to him as 
follows ; 

“You know that wicked Uncle Kiihleborn, 
my dearest lord, and have often been provoked 
at meeting him about the castle. Bertalda, too, 
has been often terrified by him. No wonder ; 
he is soulless, shallow, and unthinking as a 
mirror, in whom no feeling can pierce the sur- 
face. He has two or three times seen that you 
were displeased with me, that I in my childish- 
ness could not help weeping, and that Bertalda 
might chance to laugh at the same moment. 
And upon this he builds all manner of unjust 
suspicions, and interferes, unasked, in our con- 
cerns. What is the use of my reproaching him, 
or repulsing him with angry words ? He be- 
lieves nothing that I say. A poor cold life is 
his ! How should he know that the sorrows 
and joys of love are so sweetly alike, so closely 
linked, that it is not in human power to part 
them. When a tear gushes out, a smile lies be- 
neath ; and a smile will draw the tears from 
their secret cells.” 

She smiled through her tears in Huldbrand’s 


< io8 


‘GlnDfne 


face, and a warm ray of his former love shot 
through his heart. She perceived this, pressed 
closer to him, and with a few tears of joy she 
went on. 

“ As I found it impossible to get rid of our 
tormentor by words, I had nothing for it but to 
shut the door against him. And his only ac- 
cess to us was that fountain. He has quarrelled 
with the other fountain spirits in the surround- 
ing valleys, and it is much lower down the Dan- 
ube, below the junction of some of his friends 
with the great river, that his power begins again. 
Therefore I stopped the mouth of our fountain, 
and inscribed the stone with characters which 
cripple the might of my restless uncle ; so that 
he can no longer cross your path, or mine, or 
Bertalda’s. Men can indeed lift the stone off as 
easily as ever ; the inscription has no power 
over them. So you are free to comply with 
Bertalda’s wish ; but indeed, she little knows 
what she asks. Against her the wild Kiihle- 
born has a most particular spite, and if some of 
his forebodings were to come true (as they 
might, without her intending any harm), O 


'UlnOine 


109 


dearest, even thou wert not free from dan- 
ger ! ” 

Huldbrand deeply felt the generosity of his 
noble-minded wife, in so zealously shutting out 
her formidable protector, even when reviled by 
Bertalda for so doing. He clasped her fondly in 
his arms, and said with much emotion: “The 
stone shall remain ; and every thing shall be 
done as thou wishest, now and hereafter, my 
sweetest Undine.” 

Scarce could she trust these words of love, 
after so dreary an enstrangement ; she returned 
His caresses with joyful but timid gratitude, and 
at length said : “ My own dear love, as you are 
so exceedingly kind to me to-day, may I ask 
you to promise one thing? Herein you are like 
the summer : is he not most glorious when he 
decks his brows with thunders, and frowns upon 
us from his throne of clouds ? So it is when 
your eyes flash lightning ; it becomes you well, 
although in m}’ weakness I may often shed a 
tear at it. Only — if you would promise to re- 
frain from it when we are sailing, or even near 
any water. For there, you see, my relations 


no 


lUnDine 


have a right to control me. They might relent- 
lessly tear me from you in their wrath, fancying 
that there is an insult offered to one of their 
race ; and I should be doomed to spend the rest 
of my life in the crystal palaces below, without 
ever coming to you ; or if they did send me up 
again — O Heaven, that would be far worse ! 
No, no, my best beloved ; you will not let it 
come to that, if you love your poor Undine.” 

He solemnly promised to do as she asked him, 
and they returned to the saloon, quite restored 
to comfort and peace. They met Bertalda, fol- 
lowed by a few laborers whom she had sent for, 
and she said in a tone of bitterness that had 
grown common with her of late : “ So, now your 
private consultation is over, and we may have 
the stone taken up. Make haste, you people, 
and do it for me.” But Huldbrand, incensed at 
her arrogance, said shortly and decidedly, “The 
stone shall not be touched,” and he then re- 
proved Bertalda for her rudeness to his wife ; 
upon which the laborers walked off, exulting 
secretly, while Bertalda hurried away to her 
chamber, pale and disturbed. 


‘lan^ine 


III 


The hour of supper came, and they waited in 
vain for Bertalda. A message was sent to her ; 
the servants found her room empty, and brought 
back only a sealed letter directed to the knight. 
He opened it with trepidation and read : “ I feel 
with shame that I am only a fisherman’s daugh- 
ter. Having forgotten it a moment, I will ex- 
piate my crime in the wretched hut of my 
parents. Live happy with your beautiful wife ! ’ ’ 
Undine was sincerely grieved ; she entreated 
Huldbrand to pursue their friend at once, and 
bring her back with him. Alas ! there was little 
need of entreaty. His passion for Bertalda re- 
turned with fresh violence ; he searched the 
castle all over, asking every one if they could 
tell him in what direction the fair one had fled. 
He could discover nothing ; and now he had 
mounted his horse in the court, and stood ready 
to set forth, and try the route by which he had 
brought Bertalda to the castle. A peasant boy 
just then came up, saying that he had met the 
lady riding toward the Black Valley. Like a 
shot the knight darted through the gate, and 
took that direction, without heeding Undine’s 


II2 


TllnOine 


anxious cries from the window : “To the Black 
Valley ? oh, not there ! Huldbrand, not there ! 
Or take me with you, for God’s sake ! ” Find- 
ing it vain to cry, she had her white palfrey 
saddled in all haste, and galloped after her hus- 
band, without allowing any one to attend her. 



•¥ 



CHAPTER XIV. 

HOW BERTAI.DA DROVE HOME WITH THE 
KNIGHT. 



HE Black Valley lay among the deepest re- 


* cesses of the mountains. What it is called 
now none can tell. In those times it bore that 
name among the countrymen, on account of the 
deep gloom shed over it by many high trees, 
mostly pines. Even the brook which gushed 
down between the cliffs was tinged with black, 
and never sparkled like the merry streams from 
which nothing intercepts the blue of heaven. 
Now, in the dusk of twilight, it looked darker 
still as it gurgled between the rocks. The 
knight spurred his horse along its banks, now 
fearing to lose ground in his pursuit, and now 
again, that he might overlook the fugitive in 
her hiding-place, if he hurried past too swiftly. 
He presently found himself far advanced in the 


TIlnDlnc 


114 

valley, and hoped he must soon overtake her, 
if he were but in the right track. Then again, 
the thought that it might be a wrong one roused 
the keenest anxiety in his breast. Where was 
the tender Bertalda to lay her head, if he missed 
her in this bleak stormy night, which was set- 
ting in, black and awful, upon the valley ? And 
now he saw something white gleaming through 
the boughs, on the slope of the mountain ; he 
took it for Bertalda’s robe and made for it. But 
the horse started back, and reared so obstinately 
that Huldbrand, impatient of delay, and having 
already found him difficult to manage among 
the brambles of the thicket, dismounted, and 
fastened the foaming steed to a tree ; he then 
felt his way through the bushes on foot. The 
boughs splashed his head and cheeks roughly 
with cold wet dew ; far off, he heard the growl 
of thunder beyond the mountains, and the 
whole strange scene had such an effect upon 
him, that he became afraid of approaching the 
white figure, which he now saw lying on the 
ground at a short distance. And yet he could 
distinguish it to be a woman, dressed in long 



THE BLACK VALLEY. 






*3 




ii6 


‘Clnt)ine 


white garments like Bertalda’s, asleep or in a 
swoon. He came close to her, made the boughs 
rustle, and his sword ring, — ^but she stirred not. 
“ Bertalda ! ” cried he ; first gently, then louder 
and louder, — in vain. When at length he shouted 
the beloved name with the whole strength of 
his lungs, a faint mocking echo returned it from 
the cavities of the rocks — “.Bertalda ! ” but the 
sleeper awoke not. He bent over her ; but the 
gloom of the valley and the shades of night pre- 
vented his discerning her features. At length, 
though kept back by some boding fears, he 
knelt down by her on the earth, and just then a 
flash of lightning lighted up the valley. He 
saw a hideous distorted face close to his own, 
and heard a hollow voice say : ‘ ‘ Give me a 

kiss, thou sweet shepherd ! ” With a cry of 
horror Huldbrand started up, and the monster 
after him. “Go home!” it cried, “the bad 
spirits are abroad — go home 1 or I have you 1 ” 
and its long white arm nearly grasped him. 
^‘Spiteful Kiihleborn,” cried the knight, tak- 
ing courage, “what matters it, I know thee, 
foul spirit I There is a kiss for thee 1 ” And 


lIlnDine 


117 

he raised his sword furiously against the figure. 
But it dissolved, and a drenching shower made 
it sufl&ciently clear to the knight what enemy 
he had encountered. ‘ ‘ He would scare me 
away from Bertalda,” said he aloud to himself ; 
“ he thinks he can subdue me by his absurd 
tricks, and make me leave the poor terrified 
maiden in his power, that he may wreak his 
vengeance upon her. But that he never shall 
— wretched goblin ! What power lies in a hu- 
man breast when steeled by firm resolve, the 
contemptible juggler has yet to learn.” And 
he felt the truth of his own words, and seemed 
to have nerved himself afresh by them. He 
thought, too, that fortune now began to aid 
him, for before he had got back to his horse 
again, he distinctly heard the piteous voice of 
Bertalda as if near at hand, borne toward him 
on the winds as their howling mingled with the 
thunder. Eagerly did he push on in that direc- 
tion, and he found the trembling damsel, who 
was just attempting to climb the mountain’s 
side, in order, at any risk, to get out of these 
awful shades. 


ii8 


•ClnDme 


He met her affectionately, and however 
proudly she might before have determined to 
hold out, she could not but rejoice at being res- 
cued by her much-loved Huldbrand from the 
fearful solitude, and warmly invited to return to 
his cheerful home in the castle. She accom- 
panied him with scarcely a word of reluctance, 
but was so exhausted, that the knight felt much 
relieved when they had reached the horse in 
safety. He hastened to loose him, and would 
have placed his tender charge upon him, and 
walked by her side to guide her carefully 
through the dangerous shades ; but Kiihle- 
bom’s mad pranks had driven the horse quite 
wild. Hardly could the knight himself have 
sprung upon the terrified plunging creature’s 
back ; to place the trembling Bertalda upon 
him was quite impossible ; so they made up 
their minds to walk home. With his horse’s 
bridle over one arm, Huldbrand supported his 
half-fainting companion on the other. Bertalda 
mustered what strength she could, in order the 
sooner to get beyond this dreaded valley, but 
fatigue weighed her down like lead, and every 


'GlnOine 


1 19 

limb shook under her ; partly from the recollec- 
tion of all she had already sujBfered from Kiihle- 
born’s spite, and partly from terror at the con- 
tinued crashing of the tempest through the 
mountain forests. 

At length she slid down from her protector’s 
arm, and sinking on the moss, she said : 
“ Leave me to die here, noble Huldbrand ; I 
reap the punishment of my folly, and must 
sink under this load of fatigue and anguish ! ” 
“Never, my precious friend, never will I for- 
sake you ! ” cried Huldbrand, vainly striving to 
curb his raging steed, who was now beginning to 
start and plunge worse than ever. The knight 
contrived to keep him at some distance from the 
exhausted maiden, so as to save her the terror 
of seeing him near her. But no sooner had he 
withdrawn himself and the wild animal a few 
steps, than she began to call him back in the 
most piteous manner, thinking he was indeed 
going to desert her in this horrible wilderness. 
He was quite at a loss what to do ; gladly would 
he have let the horse gallop away in the dark- 
ness and expend his wild fury, but that he feared 


120 


TanOtnc 


he might rush down upon the very spot where 
Bertalda lay. 

In this extremity of distress it gave him un- 
speakable comfort to descry a wagon slowly 
descending the stony road behind him. He 
called out for help ; a man’s voice replied, tell- 
ing him to have patience, but promising to 
come to his aid ; soon two white horses became 
visible through the thicket, and next the white 
smock-frock of the wagoner, and a large sheet 
of white linen that covered his goods inside. 
“ Ho, stop ! ” cried the man, and the obedient 
horses stood still. “I see well enough,” said 
he, “ what ails the beast. When first I came 
through these parts, my horses were just as 
troublesome ; because there is a wicked water- 
sprite living hard by, who takes delight in 
making them play tricks. But I know a charm 
for this ; if you will give me leave to whisper it 
in your horse’s ear, you will see him as quiet as 
mine yonder in a moment.” “ Try your charm 
if it will do any good,” said the impatient 
knight. The driver pulled the unruly horse’s 
head toward him and whispered a couple of 


xandine 


I2I 


words in his ear. At once the animal stood 
still, tamed and pacified, and showed no re- 
mains of his former fury but by panting and 
snorting, as if he still chafed inwardly. This 
was no time for Hnldbrand to inquire how it 
had been done. He agreed with the wagoner 
that Bertalda should be taken into the wagon, 
which by his account was loaded with bales of 
soft cotton, and conveyed to the castle of Ring- 
stetten, while the knight followed on horse- 
back. But his horse seemed too much spent 
by his former violence to be able to carry his 
master so far, and the man persuaded Huld- 
brand to get into the wagon with Bertalda. 
The horse was to be fastened behind. “ We 
shall go down hill,” said the man, “ and that is 
light work for my horses.” The knight placed 
himself by Bertalda, his horse quietly followed 
them, and the driver walked by steadily and 
carefully. 

In the deep stillness of night, while the storm 
growled more and more distant, and in the 
consciousness of safety and easy progress, Huld- 
brand and Bertalda insensibly got into confi- 


122 


•dnOine 


dential discourse. He tenderly reproached her 
for having so hastily fled ; she excused herself 
with bashful emotion, and through all she said 
it appeared most clearly that her heart was all 
his own. Huldbrand was too much engrossed 
by the expression of her words to attend to 
their apparent meaning, and he only replied to 
the former. Upon this the wagoner cried out 
in a voice that rent the air : “ Now, my horses, 
up with you ; show us what you are made of, 
my fine fellows ! ” The knight put out his 
head and saw the horses treading or rather 
swimming through the foaming waters, while 
the wheels whirled loudly and rapidly like those 
of a water-mill, and the wagoner was standing 
upon the top of his wagon, overlooking the 
floods. “Why, what road is this? It will 
take us into the middle of the stream,” cried 
Huldbrand. “ No, sir,” cried the driver, laugh- 
ing ; “ it is just the other way. The stream is 
come into the middle of the road. Look round, 
and see how it is all flooded.” 

In fact, the whole valley was now heaving 
with waves, that had swollen rapidly to a great 


TUnOinc 


123 

height. “ This must be Kiihleborn, the wicked 
sprite, trying to drown us ! ” cried the knight. 
“ Have you no charm to keep him off, friend?” 
“ I do know of one,” said the driver, “but I 
can’t and won’t make use of it till you know 
who I am.” “Is this a time for riddles?” 
shouted the knight ; “ the flood is rising every 
moment, and what care I to know who you 
are?” “It rather concerns you, however, to 
know,” said the driver, “ for I am Kiihleborn.” 
And he grinned hideously into the wagon — 
which was now a wagon no longer, nor were 
the horses horses ; but all dissolved into foam- 
ing waves ; the wagoner himself shot up into a 
giant waterspout, bore down the struggling 
horse into the flood, and, towering over the 
heads of the hapless pair, till he had swelled 
into a watery mountain, he would have swal- 
lowed them up the next moment. 

But now the sweet voice of Undine was heard 
above the wild uproar ; the moon shone out 
between the clouds, and at the same instant 
Undine came into sight, upon the high grounds 
above them. She addressed Kiihleborn in a 


124 


•QlnDine 


commanding tone, the huge wave laid itself 
down, muttering and murmuring ; the waters 
rippled gently away in the moon’s soft light, 
and Undine alighted like a white dove from hei 
airy height, and led them to a soft green spot 
on the hill-side, where she refreshed their jaded 
spirits with choice food. She then helped Ber- 
talda to mount her own white palfrey, and at 
length they all three reached the castle of 
Ringstetten in safety. 



mr 



CHAPTER XV. 
the; trip to vie;nna. 

r~^ OR some time after this adventure they led 
a quiet and peaceful life in the castle. 
The knight was deeply touched by his wife’s 
angelic goodness, so signally displayed by her 
pursuing and saving them in the Black Valley, 
where their lives were threatened by Kiihle- 
bom. Undine herself was happy in the peace 
of an approving conscience ; besides that, many 
a gleam of hope now brightened her path, as 
her husband’s love and confidence seemed to 
revive. Bertalda meanwhile was grateful, mod- 
est, and timid, without claiming any merit for 
being so. If either of her companions alluded 
to the sealing up of the fountain, or the adven- 
tures in the Black Valley, she would implore 
them to spare her on those subjects, because 


126 


UlnDine 


she could not think of the fountain without a 
blush, nor the valley without a shudder. She 
was therefore told nothing further ; indeed, 
what would have been the use of enlightening 
her ? Nothing could add to the peace and hap- 
piness which had taken up their abode in the 
castle of Ringstetten ; they enjoyed the present 
in full security, and the future lay before them, 
all blooming with fair fruits and flowers. 

The winter had gone by without any inter- 
ruption to their social comfort ; and spring, 
with her young green shoots and bright blue 
skies, began to smile upon men ; their hearts 
felt light, like the young season, and from its 
returning birds of passage they caught a fancy 
to travel. One day, as they were walking 
together near the sources of the Danube, Huld- 
brand fell into talk about the glories of that 
noble river, how proudly he flowed on, through 
fruitful lands, to the spot where the majestic 
city of Vienna crowned his banks, and how 
every mile of his course was marked by fresh 
grandeur and beauty. ‘ ‘ How delightful it 
would be to follow his course down to Vienna ! ” 



« 



/ 






128 


•ClnDine 


cried Bertalda ; but instantly relapsing into her 
timid, chastened manner, she blushed and was 
silent. This touched Undine, and in her eager- 
ness to give her friend pleasure, she said : 
“And why should we not take the trip?” 
Bertalda jumped for joy, and their fancy began 
to paint this pleasant recreation in the brightest 
colors. Huldbrand encouraged them cheer- 
fully, but whispered once to Undine : “ But, 
should not we get within Kiihlebom’s power 
again, down there ? ” “ Let him come ! ” said 

she, laughing ; “ I shall be with you, and in my 
presence he durst not attempt any mischief.” 

So the only possible objection seemed re- 
moved, and they prepared for departure, and 
were soon sailing along, full of spirit and gay 
hopes. But, O man ! it is not for thee to won- 
der when the course of events differs widely 
from the paintings of thy fancy. The treacher- 
ous foe, that lures us to our ruin, lulls his victim 
to rest with sweet music and golden dreams. 
Our guardian angel, on the contrary, will often 
rouse us by a sharp and awakening blow. 

The first days they spent on the Danube were 


TUnDinc 


I2g 

days of extraordinary enjoyment. The farther 
they floated down the proud stream the nobler 
and fairer grew the prospect. But, just as they 
had reached a most lovely district, the first 
sight of which had promised them great de- 
light, the unruly Kiihleborn began openly to 
give signs of his presence and power. At first 
they were only sportive tricks, because, when- 
ever he ruffled the stream and raised the wind, 
Undine repressed him by a word or two, and 
made him subside at once ; but his attempts 
soon began again, and again Undine was 
obliged to warn him off ; so that the pleasure 
of the little party was grievously disturbed. To 
make things worse, the watermen would mutter 
many a dark surmise into each other’s ears, and 
cast strange looks at the three gentlefolks, 
whose very servants began to feel suspicion, 
and to show distrust of their lord. Huldbrand 
said to himself more than once : “ This comes 
of uniting with other than one’s like : a son of 
earth may not marry a wondrous maid of ocean. ” 
To justify himself (as we all love to do) he 
would add : “ But I did not know she was a 


130 


•ariDlne 


maid of ocean. If I am to be pursued and fet- 
tered wherever I go by the mad freaks of her 
relations, mine is the misfortune, not the fault.” 
Such reflections somewhat checked his self- 
reproaches ; but they made him the more dis- 
posed to accuse, nay, even to hate Undine. 
Already he began to scowl upon her, and the 
poor wife understood but too well his meaning. 
Exhausted by this, and by her constant exer- 
tions against Kiihleborn, she sank back one 
evening in the boat, and was lulled by its gen- 
tle motion into a deep sleep. 

But no sooner were her eyes closed than every 
one in the boat thought he saw, just opposite 
his own eyes, a terrific human head rising 
above the water ; not like the head of a swim- 
mer, but planted upright on the surface of the 
river, and keeping pace with the boat. Bach 
turned to his neighbor to show him the cause 
of his terror, and found him looking equally 
frightened, but pointing in a different direction, 
where the half-laughing, half-scowling goblin 
met his eyes. When at length they tried to ex- 
plain the matter to each other, crying out, 


“dn^inc 


131 

‘‘Look there ; no, there ! ” each of them sud- 
denly perceived the other’s phantom, and the 
water round the boat appeared all alive with 
ghastly monsters. The cry which burst from 
every mouth awakened Undine. Before the 
light of her beaming eyes the horde of mis- 
shapen faces vanished. But Huldbrand was 
quite exasperated by these fiendish tricks, and 
would have burst into loud imprecations, had 
not Undine whispered in the most beseeching 
manner : “ For God’s sake, my own lord, be 
patient now ! remember we are on the water.” 
The knight kept down his anger and soon sank 
into thought. Presently Undine whispered to 
him : “ My love, had not we better give up the 
foolish journey, and go home to Ringstetten in 
comfort?” But Huldbrand muttered angrily: 
“ Then I am to be kept a prisoner in my own 
castle ? and even there I may not breathe freely 
unless the fountain is sealed up ? Would to 
heaven the absurd connection ” But Un- 

dine pressed her soft hand gently upon his lips. 
And he held his peace, and mused upon all she 
had previously told him. 


132 


mnDine 


In the meantime Bertalda had yielded herself 
up to many and strange reflections. She knew 
something of Undine’s origin, but not all ! and 
Kiihleborn in particular was only a fearful but 
vague image in her mind ; she had not even 
once heard his name. And as she pondered 
these wonderful subjects, she half unconscious- 
ly took off a golden necklace which Huldbrand 
had bought for her of a travelling jeweller a 
few days before. She held it close to the surface 
of the river, playing with it, and dreamily 
watching the golden gleam that it shed on the 
glassy water. Suddenly a large hand came up 
out of the Danube, snatched the necklace, and 
ducked under with it. Bertalda screamed 
aloud, and was answered by a laugh of scorn 
from the depths below. And now the knight 
could contain himself no longer. Starting up, 
he gave a loose to his fury, loading with impre- 
cations those who chose to break into his fam- 
ily and private life, and challenging them — 
were they goblins or sirens — to meet his good 
sword. Bertalda continued to weep over the 
loss of her beloved jewel, and her tears were as 


'Cln^mc 


133 


oil to the flames of his wrath ; while Undine 
kept her hand dipped into the water, with a 
ceaseless low murmur, only once or twice inter- 
rupting her mysterious whispers, to say to her 
husband in tones of entreaty : “ Dearest love, 
speak not roughly to me here ; say whatever 
you will, only spare me here ; and you know 
why ! ” and he still restrained his tongue 
(which stammered with passion) from saying a 
word directly against her. She soon drew her 
hand from under the water, bringing up a 
beautiful coral necklace, whose glitter dazzled 
them all. “ Take it,” said she, offering it kind- 
ly to Bertalda ; “I have sent for this instead 
of the one you lost ; do not grieve any more, 
my poor child.” But Huldbrand darted for- 
ward, snatched the shining gift from Undine’s 
hand, hurled it again into the water, and roared 
furiously : “So you still have intercourse with 
them ? In the name of sorcery, go back to 
them with all your baubles, and leave us men 
in peace, witch as you are ! ” With eyes 
aghast, yet streaming with tears, poor Undine 
gazed at him, still holding out the hand which 


134 


‘GlnMne 


had so lovingly presented to Bertalda the bright 
jewel. Then she wept more and more, like a 
sorely injured, innocent child. And at length 
she said, faintly : “ Farewell, my dearest ; fare- 
well ! They shall not lay a finger on thee ; 
only be true to me, that I may still guard thee 
from them. But I, alas ! I must be gone ; all 
this bright morning of life is over. Woe, woe 
is me! what hast thou done? woe, woe!” 
And she slipped out of the boat and passed 
away. Whether she went down into the river, 
or floated away with it, none could tell ; it was 
like both and yet like neither. She soon min- 
gled with the waters of the Danube, and nothing 
was to be heard but the sobbing whispers of the 
stream as it washed against the boat, seeming 
to say distinctly : ” Woe, woe ! O be true to 
me ! woe, woe ! ” 

Huldbrand lay flat in the boat, drowned in 
tears, till a deep swoon came to the unhappy 
man’s relief, and steeped him in oblivion. 



CHAPTER XVI. 

OF WHAT BFFEIvIv HUEDBRAND AFTERWARDS. 
HALL we say, Alas ! or thank God that our 



^ grief is so often transient ? I speak of 
such grief as has its source in the well-springs 
of life itself, and seems so identified with our 
lost friend as almost to fill up the void he has 
left ; and his hallowed image seems fixed within 
the sanctuary of our soul, until the signal of 
our release comes and sets us free to join him. 
In truth, a good man will not suffer this sanctu- 
ary to be disturbed ; yet even with him, it is not 
the first, the all-engrossing sorrow which abides. 
New objects will intermingle, and we are com- 
pelled to draw from our grief itself a fresh 
proof of the perishableness of earthly things ; 
alas, then, that our grief is transient ! 

So it was with the Lord of Ringstetten ; 


136 


Tlln^Jine 


whether for his weal or woe the sequel of this 
story will show us. At first he could do noth- 
ing but weep abundantly, as his poor kind 
Undine had wept when he snatched from her 
the beautiful gift which she thought would 
have comforted and pleased them so much. 
He would then stretch out his hand as she had 
done, and burst into tears afresh, like her. He 
secretly hoped that he might end by altogether 
dissolving in tears. And are there not many 
whose minds have been visited by the same pain- 
fully pleasing thought, at some season of great 
sorrow ? Bertalda wept with him, and they lived 
quietly together at Ringstetten a long while, 
cherishing the memory of Undine, and seeming 
to have forgotten their own previous attach- 
ment. Moreover, the gentle Undine often 
appeared to Huldbrand in his dreams ; she 
would caress him meekly and fondly, and de- 
part again with tearful resignation, so that when 
he awoke he doubted whose tears they were 
that bedewed his face — were they hers, or only 
his own ? 

But as time went on these visions became 


■UlnDinc 


137 


less frequent, and the knight’s grief milder ; 
still he might perhaps have spent the rest of his 
days contentedly, devoting himself to the mem- 
ory of Undine, and keeping it alive by talking 
of her, had not the old fisherman unexpectedly 
made his appearance, and laid his serious com- 
mands upon Bertalda, his daughter, to return 
home with him. The news of Undine’s disap- 
pearance had reached him, and he would no 
longer suffer Bertalda to remain in the castle 
alone with its lord. “ I do not ask whether my 
daughter cares for me or not,” said he ; “her 
character is at stake, and where that is the case 
nothing else is worth considering.” 

This summons from the old man, and the 
prospect of utter loneliness amid the halls and 
long galleries of the castle after Bertalda’s de- 
parture, revived in Huldbrand’s heart the feel- 
ing that had lain dormant, and as it were buried 
under his mourning for Undine, namely, his 
love for the fair Bertalda. The fisherman had 
many objections to their marriage ; Undine had 
been very dear to the old man, and he thought 
it hardly certain yet that his lost darling was 


'ClnMne 


138 

really dead. But, if her corpse were indeed 
lying stiff and cold in the bed of the Danube, 
or floating down its stream to the distant ocean, 
then Bertalda ought to reproach herself for her 
death, and it ill became her to take the place 
of her poor victim. However, the fisherman 
was very fond of Huldbrand also ; the entreaties 
of his daughter, who was now grown much 
more gentle and submissive, had their effect, 
and it seems that he did yield his consent at 
last ; for he remained peaceably at the castle, 
and an express was sent for Father Heilmann, 
who in earlier, happier days had blessed Un- 
dine’s and Huldbrand’s union, that he might 
officiate at the knight’s second marriage. 

No sooner had the holy man read the Lord of 
Ringstetten’s letter than he set forth on his way 
thither, with far greater speed than the mes- 
senger had used to reach him. If his straining 
haste took away his breath, or he felt his aged 
limbs ache with fatigue, he would say to him- 
self : “I may be in time to prevent a wicked 
deed ; sink not till thou hast reached thy goal, 
my withered frame ! ” And so he exerted him- 


'QlnDlne 


139 


self afresh, and pushed on, without flagging or 
halting, till late one evening he entered the 
shady court of Ringstetten. 

The lovers were sitting hand in hand under a 
tree, with the thoughtful old man near them ; 
as soon as they saw Father Heilmann they rose 
eagerly and advanced to meet him. But he, 
scarcely noticing their civilities, begged the 
knight to come with him into the castle. As he 
stared at this request, and hesitated to comply, 
the pious old priest said : “ Why, indeed, should 
I speak to you alone, my Ford of Ringstetten ? 
What I have to say equally concerns the fisher- 
man and Bertalda ; and as they must sooner or 
later know it, it had better be said now. How 
can you be certain. Lord Huldbrand, that your 
own wife is indeed dead? For myself, I can 
hardly think so. I will not venture to speak 
of things relating to her wondrous nature ; in 
truth, I have no clear knowledge about it. But 
a godly and faithful wife she proved herself, 
beyond all about. And these fourteen nights 
has she come to my bedside in dreams, wringing 
her poor hands in anguish, and sighing out : 


140 


‘UlnJ)ine 


‘ O stop him, dear father ! I am yet alive ! O 
save his life ! O save his soul ! ’ I understood 
not the meaning of the vision till your messen- 
ger came ; and I have now hastened hither, not 
to join but to part those hands, which may not 
be united in holy wedlock. Part from her, 
Huldbrand ! Part from him, Bertalda ! He 
belongs to another ; see you not how his cheek 
turns pale at the thought of his departed wife ? 
Those are not the looks of a bridegroom. And 
the spirit tells me this : If thou leavest him not 
now, there is joy for thee no more.” They all 
three felt at the bottom of their hearts that 
Father Heilmann’s words were true ; but they 
would not yield to them. Even the old fisher- 
man was so blinded as to think that what had 
been settled between them for so many days 
could not now be relinquished. So they resist- 
ed the priest’s warnings, and urged the ful- 
filment of their wishes with headlong, gloomy 
determination, till Father Heilmann departed 
with a melancholy shake of the head, without 
accepting even for one night their proffered 
hospitalities, or tasting any of the refreshments 


TUtiDinc 


I4I 

they set before him. But Huldbrand persuaded 
himself that the old priest was a weak dotard ; 
and early next morning he sent to a monk from 
the nearest cloister, who readily promised to 
came and marry them in a few days. 



\ 



CHAPTER XVII. 

THE KNIGHT’S DREAM. 

HE morning twilight was beginning to 



* dawn, and the knight lay half awake on 
his couch. Whenever he dropped asleep he 
was scared by mysterious terrors, and started 
up as if sleep were peopled by phantoms. If he 
woke up in earnest, he felt himself fanned all 
around by what seemed like swans’ wings, and 
soothed by watery airs, which lulled him back 
again into the half unconscious, twilight state. 
At length he did fall asleep, and fancied him- 
self lifted by swans on their soft wings, and 
carried far away over lands and seas, all to the 
sound of their sweetest melody. Swans sing- 
ing ! swans singing ! ” thought he, continually ; 
‘ ‘ is not that the strain of death ? ’ ’ Presently he 
found himself hovering above a vast sea. A 
swan warbled in his ear that it was the Mediter- 
ranean ; and as he looked down into the deep 


TUnOitie 


143 


it became like clear crystal, transparent to the 
bottom. This rejoiced him much, for he could 
see Undine sitting in a brilliant hall of crystal. 

She was shedding tears, indeed, and looked 
sadly changed since the happy times which 
they had spent together at Ringstetten ; happi- 
est at first, but happy also a short time since, 
just before the fatal sail on the Danube. The 
contrast struck Huldbrand deeply ; but Undine 
did not seem to be aware of his presence. 
Kiihlebom soon came up to her, and began 
rating her for weeping. She composed herself, 
and looked at him with a firmness and dignity 
before which he almost quailed. ‘ ‘ Though I 
am condemned to live under these deep waters,” 
said she, “I have brought my soul with me ; 
therefore my tears cannot be understood by 
thee. But to me they are blessings, like every 
thing that belongs to a loving soul. ’ ’ He shook 
his head incredulously, and said, after a pause : 
“ Nevertheless, niece, you are still subject to 
the laws of our element ; and you know you 
must execute sentence of death upon him as 
soon as he marries again, and breaks faith with 


144 


TIlnDtne 


you.” “To this hour he is a widower,” said 
Undine, “and loves and moiu'ns me truly.” 
“ Ah, but he will be a bridegroom soon ! ” said 
Kiihlebom, with a sneer ; “ wait a couple of 
days only, and the marriage blessing will have 
been given, and you must go up and put the 
criminal to death. ” “I cannot ! ’ ’ answered the 
smiling Undine. “ I have had the fountain 
sealed up, against myself and my whole race. ’ ’ 
“But suppose he leaves his castle,” said Kiihle- 
bom, “ or forgets himself so far as to let them 
set the fountain free ; for he thinks mighty 
little of those matters.” “And that is why,” 
said Undine, still smiling through her tears, 
“ that is why his spirit hovers at this moment 
over the Mediterranean, and listens to our con- 
versation as in a dream. I have contrived it 
on purpose, that he may take warning.” On 
hearing this Kiihlebom looked up angrily at 
the knight, scowled at him, stamped, and then 
shot upwards through the waves like an arrow. 
His fury seemed to make him expand into a 
whale. Again the swans began to warble, to 
wave their wings, and to fly ; the knight felt 


'QlnJ)ine 


145 


himself borne high over alps and rivers, till he 
was deposited in the castle of Ringstetten, and 
awoke in his bed. 

He did awake in his bed, just as one of his 
squires entered the room, and told him that 
Father Heilmann was still lingering near the 
castle ; for he had found him the evening be- 
fore in the forest, living in a shed he had made 
for himself with branches and moss. On being 
asked what he was staying for, since he had 
refused to bless the betrothed couple, he an- 
swered : “It is not the wedded only who stand 
in need of prayer ; and though I came not for 
the bridal, there may yet be work for me of 
another kind. We must be prepared for every 
thing. Sometimes marriage and mourning are 
not far apart ; and he who does not wilfully 
close his eyes may perceive it.” The knight 
built all manner of strange conjectures upon 
these words and upon his dream. But if once 
a man has formed a settled purpose, it is hard 
indeed to shake it. The end of this was, that 
their plans remained unchanged. 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

OF THE KNIGHT HUEDBRAND’S SECOND BRIDAE. 

XT 7ERE I to tell you how the wedding-day 
’ ^ at Ringstetten passed, you might imagine 
yourself contemplating a glittering heap of gay 
objects, with a black crape thrown over them, 
through which the splendid pageant, instead 
of delighting the eye, would look like a mock- 
ery of all earthly joys. Not that the festive 
meeting was disturbed by any spectral appari- 
tions ; we have seen that the castle was safe from 
any intrusion of the malicious water sprites. 
But the knight, the fisherman, and all the 
guests were haunted by a feeling that the chief 
person, the soul of the feast, was missing ; and 
who was she but the gentle, beloved Undine ? 
As often as they heard a door open, every eye 
turned involuntarily toward it, and when noth- 
ing ensued but the entrance of the steward with 


I 

J 


■QlnDinc 


147 


some more dishes, or of the cup-bearer with a 
fresh supply of rich wine, the guests would 
look sad and blank, and the sparks of gayety 
kindled by the light jest or the cheerful dis- 
course were quenched in the damp of melan- 
choly recollections. The bride was the most 



thoughtless, and consequently the most cheerful 
person present ; but even she, at moments, felt 
it unnatural to be sitting at the head of the 
table, decked out in her wreath of green and 
her embroidery of gold, while Undine’s corpse 
was lying cold and stiff in the bed of the Dan- 
ube, or floating down its stream to the ocean. 


148 


‘ClnOine 


For, ever since her father had used these words, 
they had been ringing in her ears, and to-day 
especially they pursued her without ceasing. 

The party broke up before night had closed 
in : not, as usual, dispersed by the eager impa- 
tience of the bridegroom to be alone with his 
bride ; but dropping off listlessly, as a general 
gloom spread over the assembly. Bertalda was 
followed to her dressing-room by her women 
only, and the knight by his pages. At this 
gloomy feast there was no question of the gay 
and sportive train of bridesmaids and young 
men who usually attend the wedded pair. 

Bertalda tried to call up brighter thoughts ; 
she bade her women display before her a splen- 
did set of jewels, the gift of Huldbrand, together 
with her richest robes and veils, that she might 
select the gayest and handsomest dress for the 
morrow. Her maids seized the opportunity 
of wishing their young mistress all manner 
of joy ; nor did they fail to extol the beauty 
of the bride to the skies. Bertalda, however, 
glanced at herself in the glass and sighed : 
“ Ah, but look at the freckles just here, on my 


Tannine 


149 


throat ! ” They looked and found it was in- 
deed so, but called them beauty spots that 
would only enhance the fairness of her deli- 
cate skin. Bertalda shook her head. “Still 
it is a blemish, and I once might have cured 
it!” said she, with a deep sigh. “But the 
fountain in the court is stopped up, — that foun- 
tain which used to supply me with precious, 
beautifying water. If I could but get one 
jugful to-day ! ” “Is that all? ” cried an ob- 
sequious attendant, and slipped out of the room. 
“Why, she will not be so mad,” asked Bertal- 
da, in a tone of complacent surprise, “as to 
make them raise the stone this very night ? ” 
And now she heard men’s footsteps crossing 
the court ; and on looking down from her win- 
dow she saw the officious handmaid conducting 
them straight to the fountain ; they carried 
levers and other tools upon their shoulders. 
“ Well, it is my will to be sure,” said Bertalda, 
smiling, “ provided they are not too long about 
it.” And, elated ^by the thought that a hint 
from her could now effect what had once 
been denied to her entreaties, she watched the 


■lanDine 


150 

progress of the work in the moonlit court 
below. 

The men began straining themselves to lift 
the huge stone ; occasionally a sigh was heard, 
as some one recollected that they were now 
reversing their dear lady’s commands. But the 
task proved lighter than they had expected. 
Some power from beneath seemed to second 
their efforts and help the ston e upward. ‘ ‘ Why, ’ ’ 
said the astonished workmen to each other, ‘ ‘ it 
feels as if the spring below had turned into a 
waterspout.” More and more did the stone 
heave, till, without any impulse from the men, 
it rolled heavily along the pavement with a 
hollow sound. But, from the mouth of the 
spring arose, slowly and solemnly, what looked 
like a column of water ; at first they thought 
so, but presently saw that it was no waterspout, 
but the figure of a pale woman, veiled in white. 
She was weeping abundantly, wringing hei 
hands and clasping them over her head, while 
she proceeded with slow apd measured stej 
toward the castle. The crowd of servants fell 
back from the spot ; while, pale and aghast, the 


'mnDinc 


151 

bride and her women looked on from the 
window. 

When the figure had arrived just under that 
window, she raised her tearful face for a mo- 
ment, and Bertalda thought she recognized 
Undine’s pale features through the veil. The 
shadowy form moved on slowly and reluctantly, 
like one sent to execution. Bertalda screamed 
out that the knight must be called ; no one 
durst stir a foot, and the bride herself kept 
silence, frightened at the sound of her own 
voice. / 

While these remained at the window, as if 
rooted to the spot, the mysterious visitor had 
entered the castle, and passed up the well- 
known stairs, and through the familiar rooms, 
still weeping silently. Alas ! how differently 
had she trodden those floors in days gone by ! 

The knight had now dismissed his train ; 
half undressed, and in a dejected mood, he was 
standing near a large mirror, by the light of a 
dim taper. He heard the door tapped by a 
soft, soft touch. It was thus Undine had been 
wont to knock, when she meant to steal upon 


152 


TllnOinc 


him playfully. “ It is all fancy ! ” thought he. 
“ The bridal bed awaits me.” “Yes, but it is a 
cold one,” said a weeping voice from without ; 
and the mirror then showed him the door open- 
ing slowly, and the white form coming in, and 
closing the door gently behind her. “They 
have opened the mouth of the spring,” mur- 
mured she; “and now I am come, and now 
must thou die ! ” His beating heart told him 
this was indeed true ; but he pressed his hands 
over his eyes and said ; “Do not bewilder me 
with terror in my last moments. If thy veil 
conceals the features of a spectre, hide them 
from me still, and let me die in peace.” 
“Alas!” rejoined the forlorn one, “wilt thou 
not look upon me once again? I am fair, as 
when thou didst woo me on the promontory.” 
“Oh, could that be true ! ” sighed Huldbrand, 
“and if I might die in thy embrace 1 ” “ Be it 

so, my dearest,” said she. And she raised her 
veil, and the heavenly radiance of her sweet 
countenance beamed upon him. 

Trembling, at once with love and awe, the 
knight approached her ; she received him with 


•dnOine 


153 


a tender embrace ; but instead of relaxing her 
hold, she pressed him more closely to her 
heart, and wept as if her soul would pour itself 
out. Drowned in her tears and his own, Huld- 
brand felt his heart sink within him, and at last 
he fell lifeless from the fond arms of Undine 
upon his pillow. 

“ I have wept him to death ! ” said she to the 
pages, whom she passed in the antechamber ; 
and she glided slowly through the crowd, and 
went back to the fountain. 




CHAPTER XIX. 

HOW THE KNIGHT HUTDBRAND WAS INTERRED. 

ATHER HEILMANN had returned to the 



castle, as soon as he had heard of the 
Lord of Ringstetten’s death, and he appeared 
there just after the monk, who had married the 
hapless pair, had fled full of alarm and horror. 
“It is well,” answered Heilmann, when told 
this ; “ now is the time for my ofiice ; I want 
no assistant.” He addressed spiritual exhorta- 
tions to the widowed bride, but little impression 
could be made on so worldly and thoughtless a 
mind. The old fisherman, although he grieved 
to the heart, resigned himself more readily to 
the awful dispensation ; and when Bertalda 
kept calling Undine a witch and a murderer, 
the old man calmly answered : “ The stroke 
could not be turned away. For my part, I see 
only the hand of God therein ; and none 


■CluDine 


155 


grieved more deeply over Huldbrand’s sentence 
than she who was doomed to inflict it, the poor 
forsaken Undine ! ” And he helped to arrange 
the funeral ceremonies in a manner suitable to 
the high rank of the dead. He was to be buried 
in a neighboring hamlet, whose churchyard 
contained the graves of all his ancestors, and 
which he had himself enriched with many noble 
gifts. His helmet and coat-of-arms lay upon 
the cofl&n, about to be lowered into earth with 
his mortal remains ; for Uord Huldbrand of 
Ringstetten was the last of his race. 

The mourners began their dismal procession, 
and the sound of their solemn dirge rose into 
the calm blue depths of heaven ; Heilmann 
walked first, bearing on high a crucifix, and the 
bereaved Bertalda followed, leaning on her aged 
father. Suddenly, amid the crowd of mourners 
who composed the widow’s train, appeared a 
snow-white figure, deeply veiled, with hands 
uplifted in an attitude of intense grief. Those 
that stood near her felt a shudder creep over 
them ; they shrank back, and thus increased 
the alarm of those whom the stranger next ap- 


156 


TIlnC)ine 


preached, so that confusion gradually spread 
itself through the whole train. Here and there 
was to be found a soldier bold enough to ad- 
dress the figure, and attempt to drive her away ; 
but she always eluded their grasp, and the next 
moment reappeared among the rest, moving 
along with slow and solemn step. At length, 
when the attendants had all fallen back, she 
found herself close behind Bertalda, and now 
slackened her pace to the very slowest measure, 
so that the widow was not aware of her pres- 
ence. No one disturbed her again, while she 
meekly and reverently glided on behind her. 

So they advanced till they reached the church- 
yard, when the whole procession formed a 
circle round the open grave. Bertalda then 
discovered the unbidden guest ; and, half angry, 
half frightened, she forbade her to come near 
the knight’s resting-place. But the veiled form 
gently shook her head, and extended her hands 
in humble entreaty ; this gesture reminded 
Bertalda of poor Undine, when she gave her the 
coral necklace on the Danube, and she could 
not but weep. Father Heilmann enjoined 


UlnDme 


157 


silence, for they had begun to heap earth over 
the grave, and were about to offer up solemn 
prayers around it. Bertalda knelt down in 
silence, and all her followers did the same. 
When they arose, lo, the white form had van- 
ished ! and on the spot where she had knelt a 
bright silvery brook now gushed out of the turf 
and flowed round the knight’s tomb, till it had 
almost wholly encircled it ; then it ran farther 
on, and emptied itself into a shady pool which 
bounded one side of the churchyard. From 
that time forth the villagers are said to have 
shown travellers this clear spring, and they still 
believe it to be the poor forsaken Undine, who 
continues thus to twine her arms round her be- 
loved lord. 





SINTRAM AND HIS COMPANIONS 





SINTRAM AND HIS COM- 
PANIONS 


CHAPTER I. 

T N the high castle of Drontheim many knights 
^ sat assembled to hold council for the weal 
of the realm ; and joyously they caroused to- 
gether till midnight around the huge stone 
table in the vaulted hall. A rising storm drove 
the snow wildly against the rattling windows ; 
all the oak doors groaned, the massive locks 
shook, the castle clock slowly and heavily 
struck the hour of one. Then a boy, pale as 
death, with disordered hair and closed eyes,, 
rushed into the hall, uttering a wild scream of 
terror. He stopped beside the richly carved 
seat of the mighty Biorn, clung to the glitter- 


i 62 Slntram anO Ibis Companions 


ing knight with both his hands, and shrieked 
in a piercing voice : “ Knight and father ! 
father and knight ! Death and another are 
closely pursuing me! ” 

An awful stillness lay like ice on the whole 
assembly, save that the boy screamed ever the 
fearful words. But one of Biorn’s numerous 
retainers, an old esquire, known by the name 
of Rolf the Good, advanced towards the terrified 
child, took him in his arms, and half chanted 
this prayer: “O Father, help Thy servant! I 
believe, and yet I cannot believe.” The boy, 
as if in a dream, at once loosened his hold of 
the knight, and the good Rolf bore him from 
the hall, unresisting, yet still shedding hot tears 
and murmuring confused sounds. 

The lords and knights looked at one another 
much amazed, until the mighty Biorn said 
wildly and fiercely laughing, “Marvel not at 
that strange boy. He is my only son, and has 
been thus since he was five years old ; he is 
now twelve. I am therefore accustomed to see 
him so ; though at the first I too was disquieted 
by it. The attack comes upon him only once 


Suitram anO Ibie Companions 163 


in the year, and always at this same time. But 
forgive me for having spent so many words on 
my poor Sintram, and let us pass on to some 
worthier subject for our discourse.” 

Again there was silence for a while; then 
whisperingly and doubtfully single voices 
strove to renew their broken-olF discourse, but 
without success. Two of the youngest and 
most joyous began a roundelay, but the storm 
howled and raged so wildly without that this 
too was soon interrupted. And now they all 
sat silent and motionless in the lofty hall ; the 
lamp flickered sadly under the vaulted roof ; 
the whole party of knights looked like pale, 
lifeless images dressed up in gigantic armor.” 

Then arose the chaplain of the castle of 
Drontheim, the only priest among the knightly 
throng, and said : “Dear Dord Biom, our eyes 
and thoughts have all been directed to you and 
your son in a wonderful manner, but so it has 
been ordered by the providence of God. You 
perceive that we cannot withdraw them, and 
you would do well to tell us exactly what you 
know concerning the fearful state of the boy. 


i 64 Sintram anD 1bi6 Companione 


Perchance the solemn tale which I expect from 
you might do good to this disturbed assembly.” 

Biorn cast a look of displeasure on the priest, 
and answered : “ Sir Chaplain, you have more 
share in the history than either you or I could 
desire. Excuse me if I am unwilling to trouble 
these light-hearted warriors with so rueful a 
tale.” 

But the chaplain approached nearer to the 
knight, and said in a firm yet very mild tone : 
“ Dear lord, hitherto it rested with you alone to 
relate, or uot to relate it ; but now that you 
have so strangely hinted at the share which I 
had in your son’s calamity, I must positively 
demand that you will repeat word for word how 
every thing came to pass. My honor will have 
it so, and that will weigh with you as much as 
with me.” 

In stern compliance Biom bowed his haughty 
head, and began the following narration : “This 
time seven years I was keeping the Christmas 
feast with my assembled followers. We have 
many venerable old customs which have de- 
scended to us by inheritance from our great 


Sintram anD 1 bi 6 Companions 165 


forefathers; as, for instance, that of placing 
a gilded boar’s head on the table, and making 
thereon knightly vows of daring and wondrous 
deeds. Our chaplain here, who used then fre- 
quently to visit me, was never a friend to keep- 
ing up such traditions of the ancient heathen 
world. Such men as he were not much in 
favor in those olden times.” 

“ My excellent predecessors,” interrupted the 
chaplain, “ belonged more to God than to the 
world, and with Him they were in favor. Thus 
they converted your ancestors, and if I can in 
like manner be of service to you, even your 
jeering will not vex me.” 

With looks yet darker, and a somewhat angry 
shudder, the knight resumed: “Yes, yes; I 
know all your promises and threats of an invis- 
ible Power, and how they are meant to persuade 
us to part more readily with whatever of this 
world’s goods we may possess. Once, ah, truly, 
once I too had such ! Strange ! Sometimes it 
seems to me as though ages had passed over 
since then, and as if I were alone the survivor, 
so fearfully is every thing changed. But now I 


i66 Sintram anC) Ibis Companions 


bethink me that the greater part of this noble 
company knew me in my happiness, and have 
seen my wife, my lovely Verena.” 

He pressed his hands on his eyes, and it 
seemed as though he wept. The storm had 
ceased ; the soft light of the moon shone 
through the windows, and her beams played on 
his wild features. Suddenly he started up, so 
that his heavy armor rattled with a fearful 
sound, and he cried out in a thundering voice : 
“ Shall I turn monk, as she has become a nun ? 
No, crafty priest ; your webs are too thin to 
catch flies of my sort.” 

“ I have nothing to do with webs,” said the 
chaplain. “ In all openness and sincerity have 
I put heaven and hell before you during the 
space of six years ; and you gave full consent 
to the step which the holy Verena took. But 
what all that has to do with your son’s 
sufferings I know not, and I wait for your 
narration.” 

“You may wait long enough,” said Biorn, 
with a sneer. Sooner shall ” 

“Swear not!” said the chaplain in a loud^ 


Sintram anO Ibis Companione 167 


commanding tone, and his eyes flashed almost 
fearfully. 

“Hurra!” cried Biorn, in wild affright; 
■“hurra! Death and his companion are 
loose!” and he dashed madly out of the 
chamber and down the steps. The rough and 
fearful notes of his horn were heard summon- 
ing his retainers, and presently afterwards the 
clatter of horses’ feet on the frozen court-yard 
gave token of their departure. 

The knights retired, silent and shuddering, 
while the chaplain remained alone at the huge 
stone table, praying. 




CHAPTER II. 


FTER some time the good Rolf returned 



with slow and soft steps, and started with 
surprise at finding the hall deserted. The 
chamber where he had been occupied in quiet- 
ing and soothing the unhappy child was in so 
distant a part of the castle that he had heard 
nothing of the knight’s hasty departure. The 
chaplain related to him all that had passed, and 
then said : ‘ ‘ But, my good Rolf, I much wish 
to ask you concerning those strange words 
with which you seemed to lull poor Sintram to 
rest. They sounded like sacred words, and no 
doubt they are ; but I could not understand 
them. ‘ I believe, and yet I cannot believe.’ ” 
“Reverend sir,” answered Rolf, “I remem- 
ber that from my earliest years no history of 
the Gospels has taken such a hold of me as 


Sintram auD Ibie Companione 169 


that of the child possessed of the devil, which 
the disciples were not able to cast out, but 
when our Saviour came down from the moun- 
tain where He had been transfigured He broke 
the bonds wherewith the evil spirit had held 
the miserable child bound. I always felt as if I 
must have known and loved that boy, and been 
his play-fellow in his happy days ; and when I 
grew older, then the distress of the father on 
account of his lunatic son lay heavy at my 
heart. It must surely have all been a forebod- 
ing of our poor young Lord Sintram, whom I 
love as if he were my own child ; and now the 
words of the weeping father in the Gospel often 
come into my mind, — ‘ Lord, I believe ; help 
Thou my unbelief’ ; and some thing similar I 
may very likely have repeated to-day as a chant 
or a prayer. Reverend father, when I consider 
how one dreadful imprecation of the father has 
kept its withering hold on the son, all seems 
dark before me ; but, God be praised ! my faith 
and my hope remain above.” 

“Good Rolf,” said the priest, “I cannot 
^ clearly understand what you say about the un- 


170 Sintram anC) CompanioiiB 


happy Sintram ; for I do not know when and 
how this affliction came upon him. If no oath 
or solemn promise bind you to secrecy, will you 
make known to me all that is connected with 
it?” 

“Most willingly,” replied Rolf. “I have 
long desired to have an opportunity of so 
doing, but you have been almost always separ- 
ated from us. I dare not now leave the sleep- 
ing boy any longer alone ; and to-morrow, at 
the earliest dawn, I must take him to his 
father. Will you come with me, dear sir, to 
our poor Sintram ? ” 

The chaplain at once took up the small lamp 
which Rolf had brought with him, and they set 
off together through the long vaulted passages. 
In the small distant chamber they found the 
poor boy fast asleep. The light of the lamp 
fell strangely on his very pale face. The chap- 
lain stood gazing at him for some time, and at 
length said: “Certainly from his birth his 
features were always sharp and strongly 
marked, but now they are almost fearfully so 
for such a child ; and yet no one can help hav- 


Sintram anC> Ibis Companions 171 


ing a kindly feeling towards him, whether he 
will or not.” 

“Most true, dear sir,” answered Rolf. And 
it was evident how his whole heart rejoiced at 
any word which betokened affection for his 
beloved young lord. Thereupon he placed the 
lamp where its light could not disturb the boy, 
and seating himself close by the priest, he began 
to speak in the following terms : “ During that 
Christmas feast of which my lord was talking 
to you, he and his followers discoursed much 
concerning the German merchants and the best 
means of keeping down the increasing pride 
and power of the trading-towns. At length 
Biom laid his impious hand on the golden 
boar’s head, aud swore to put to death without 
mercy every German trader whom fate, in what 
way soever, might bring alive into his power. 
The gentle Verena turned pale, and would 
have interposed — but it was too late, the bloody 
word was uttered. And immediately afterwards, 
as though the great enemy of souls were deter- 
mined at once to secure with fresh bonds the 
vassal thus devoted to him, a warder came inta 


172 Sintram anD Ibis Companions 

the hall to announce that two citizens of a 
trading-town in Germany, an old man and his 
son, had been shipwrecked on this coast, and 
were now without the gates, asking hospitality 
of the lord of the castle. The knight could not 
refrain from shuddering ; but he thought him- 
self bound by his rash vow and by that accursed 
heathenish golden boar. We, his retainers, 
were commanded to assemble in the castle-yard, 
armed with sharp spears, which were to be 
hurled at the defenceless strangers at the first 
signal made to us. For the first, and I trust the 
last time in my life, I said ‘ No ’ to the com- 
mands of my lord ; and that I said in a loud 
voice, and with the heartiest determination. 
The Almighty, who alone knows whom He will 
accept and whom He will reject, armed me 
with resolution and strength. And Biorn might 
perceive whence the refusal of his faithful old 
servant arose, and that it was worthy of respect. 
He said to me, half in anger and half in scorn : 
‘ Go up to my wife’s apartments ; her attend- 
ants are running to and fro ; perhaps she is ill. 
Go up, Rolf the Good, I say to thee, and so 


Sintram mt> Ibis Companions 173 


women shall be with women.’ I thought to 
myself, ‘Jeer on, then ’ ; and I went silently the 
way that he had pointed out to me. On the stairs 
there met me two strange and right fearful 
beings, whom I had never seen before ; and I 
know not how they got into the castle. One of 
them was a great tall man, frightfully pallid and 
thin ; the other was a dwarf-like man, with a 
most hideous countenance and features. Indeed, 
when I collected my thoughts and looked care- 
fully at him, it appeared to me ” 

Low moanings and convulsive movements of 
the boy here interrupted the narrative. Rolf 
and the chaplain hastened to his bedside, and 
perceived that his countenance wore an expres- 
sion of fearful agony, and that he was strug- 
gling in vain to open his eyes. The priest 
made the Sign of the Cross over him, and im- 
mediately peace seemed to be restored, and his 
sleep again became quiet ; they both returned 
softly to their seats. 

“You see,” said Rolf, “that it will not do to 
describe more closely those two awful beings. 
Suffice it to say, that they went down into the 


174 Sintram an& Ibis Companions 


court-yard, and that I proceeded to my lady’s 
apartments. I found the gentle Verena almost 
fainting with terror and overwhelming anxiety, 
and I hastened to restore her with some of those 
remedies which I was able to apply by my skill, 
through God’s gift and the healing virtues of 
herbs and minerals. But scarcely had she re- 
covered her senses when, with that calm holy 
power which, as you know, is hers, she desired 
me to conduct her down to the court-yard, say- 
ing that she must either put a stop to the fear- 
ful doings of this night or herself fall a sacrifice. 
Our way took us by the little bed of the sleep- 
ing Sintram. Alas ! hot tears fell from my eyes 
to see how evenly his gentle breath then came 
and went, and how sweetly he smiled in his 
peaceful slumbers.” 

The old man put his hands to his eyes and 
wept bitterly, but soon he resumed his sad 
story. “ As we approached the lowest window 
of the staircase, we could hear distinctly the 
voice of the elder merchant, and on looking 
out, the light of the torches showed me his 
noble features, as well as the bright, youthful 


Sintram anD ibis Companions 175 


countenance of his son. ‘ I take Almighty God 
to witness, I cried he, ‘ that I had no evil thought 
against this house ! But surely I must have 
fallen unawares amongst heathen ; it cannot 
be that I am in a Christian knight’s castle ; 
and if you are indeed heathens, then kill us at 
once. And thou, my beloved son, be patient 
and of good courage ; in heaven we shall learn 
wherefore it could not be otherwise.’ I thought 
I could see those two fearful ones amidst the 
throng of retainers. The pale one had a huge 
curved sword in his hand, the little one held a 
spear notched in a strange fashion. Verena 
tore open the window, and cried in silvery 
tones through the wild night : ‘ My dearest lord 
and husband, for the sake of your only child, 
have pity on those harmless men ! Save them 
from death and resist the temptation of the evil 
spirit.’ The knight answered in his fierce 
wrath — but I cannot repeat his words. He 
staked his child on the desperate cast; he 
called Death and the Devil to see that he kept 
his word — but hush ! the boy is again moaning. 
Let me bring the dark tale quickly to a close. 


176 Sintram anO Ibis Companions 


Biorn commanded his followers to strike, cast- 
ing on them those fierce looks which have 
gained him the title of Biorn of the Fiery Byes, 
while at the same time the two frightful strang- 
ers bestirred themselves very busily. Then 
Verena called out, with piercing anguish : 
‘ Help, O God, my Saviour ! ’ Those two dread- 
ful figures disappeared ; and the knight and 
his retainers, as if seized with blindness, rushed 
wildly one against the other, but without doing 
injury to themselves, or yet being able to strike 
the merchants who ran so close a risk. They 
bowed reverently towards Verena, and with 
calm thanksgivings departed through the castle- 
gates, which at that moment had been burst 
open by a violent gust of wind, and now gave a 
free passage to any who would go forth. The 
lady and I were yet standing bewildered on the 
stairs when I fancied I saw the two fearful 
forms glide close by me, but mist-like and un- 
real. Verena called to me : ‘Rolf, did you see 
a tall, pale man, and a little hideous one with 
him, pass just now up the staircase ? ’ I flew 
after them ; and found, alas ! the poor boy in 


Sintram anO 1 bls Companions 177 

the same state in which you saw him a few 
hours ago. Ever since, the attack has come on 
him regularly at this time, and he is in all re- 
spects fearfully changed. The lady of the 
castle did not fail to discern the avenging hand 
of Heaven in this calamity ; and as the knight, 
her husband, instead of repenting, ever became 
more truly Biorn of the Fiery Eyes, she re- 
solved, in the walls of a cloister, by unremit- 
ting prayer, to obtain mercy in time and 
eternity for herself and her unhappy child.” 

Rolf was silent, and the chaplain, after some 
thought, said: “I now understand why, six 
years ago, Biom confessed his guilt to me in 
general words, and consented that his wife 
should take the veil. Some faint compunction 
must have stirred within him, and perhaps may 
stir him yet. At any rate, it was impossible 
that so tender a flower as Verena could remain 
longer in so rough keeping. But who is there 
now to watch over and protect our poor Sin- 
tram ? ” 

“The prayer of his mother,” answered Rolf. 
“Reverend sir, when the first dawn of day 


178 Sfntram anO Ibis Companions 

appears, as it does now, and when the morning 
breeze whispers through the glancing windows, 
they ever bring to my mind the soft beaming 
eyes of my lady, and I again seem to hear the 
sweet tones of her voice. The holy Verena is, 
next to God, our chief aid.” 

“And let us add our devout supplications to 
the Lord,” said the chaplain ; and he and Rolf 
knelt in silent and earnest prayer by the bed 
of the pale sufferer, who began to smile in his 
dreams. 






CHAPTER III. 



HE rays of the sun shining brightly into 


* the room awoke Sintram, and raising 
himself up, he looked angrily at the chaplain, 
and said : “So there is a priest in the castle ! 
And yet that accursed dream continues to tor- 
ment me even in his very presence. Pretty 
priest he must be ! ” 

“My child,” answered the chaplain in the 
mildest tone, “I have prayed for thee most 
fervently, and I shall never cease doing so — 
but God alone is Almighty.” 

“You speak very boldly to the son of the 
knight Biorn,” cried Sintram. “ ‘ My child ! ’ 
If those horrible drearris had not been haunting 
me you would make me laugh heartily.” 

“Young Lord Sintram,” said the chaplain, 
“ I am by no means surprised that you do not 
know me again ; for, in truth, neither do I 


i8o Sintram auD 1bl6 Companions 


know you again.” And his eyes filled with 
tears as he spoke. 

The good Rolf looked sorrowfully in the 
boy’s face, saying : “ Ah, my dear young mas- 
ter, you are so much better than you would 
make people believe. Why do you that? Your 
memory is so good that you must surely recol- 
lect your kind old friend the chaplain, who 
used formerly to be constantly at the castle, 
and to bring you so many gifts — bright pictures 
of saints and beautiful songs ? ” 

“ I know all that very well,” replied Sintram, 
thoughtfully. “My sainted mother was alive 
in those days.” 

“Our gracious lady is still living, God be 
praised ! ” said the good Rolf. 

“ But she does not live for us, poor sick 
creatures that we are ! ” cried Sintram. “And 
why will you not call her sainted ? Surely she 
knows nothing about my dreams ? ” 

“Yes, she does know of them,” said the 
chaplain ; “and she prays to God for you. But 
take heed, and restrain that wild, haughty 
temper of yours. It might, indeed, come to 


Sintram an& Ibfa Companione i8i 


pass that she would know nothing about your 
dreams, and that would be if your soul were 
separated from your body ; and then the holy 
angels also would cease to know any thing of 
you.” 

Sintram fell back on his bed as if thunder- 
struck ; and Rolf said, with a gentle sigh : 
“You should not speak so severely to my poor 
sick child, reverend sir.” 

The boy sat up, and with tearful eyes he 
turned caressingly towards the chaplain : “ Ret 
him do as he pleases, you good, tender-hearted 
Rolf ; he knows very well what he is about. 
Would you reprove him if I were slipping down 
a snowcleft, and he caught me up roughly by 
the hair of my head ? ” 

The priest looked tenderly at him, and would 
have spoken his holy thoughts, when Sintram 
suddenly sprang off the bed and asked after his 
father. As soon as he heard of the knight’s 
departure he would not remain another hour in 
the castle ; and put aside the fears of the chap- 
lain and the old esquire, lest a rapid journey 
should injure his hardly-restored health, by 


1 82 Sintram anD Ibis Companions 


saying to them : “ Believe me, reverend sir, and 
dear old Rolf, if I were not subject to these 
hideous dreams, there would not be a bolder 
youth in the whole world ; and even as it is, I 
am not so far behind the very best. Besides, 
till another year has passed my dreams are at 
an end,” 

On his somewhat imperious sign Rolf brought 
out the horses. The boy threw himself boldly 
into the saddle, and taking a courteous leave of 
the chaplain, he dashed along the frozen valley 
that lay between the snow-clad mountains. He 
had not ridden far, in company with his old 
attendant, when he heard a strange, indistinct 
sound proceeding from a neighboring cleft in 
the rock ; it was partly like the clapper of a 
small mill, but mingled with that were hollow 
groans and other tones of distress. Thither 
they turned their horses, and a wonderful sight 
showed itself to them. 

A tall man, deadly pale, in a pilgrim’s garb, 
was striving with violent, though unsuccessful 
efforts, to work his way out of the snow and to 
climb up the mountain ; and thereby a quantity 


Stntram anO 1bi6 Companfona 183 


of bones, which were hanging loosely all about 
his garments, rattled one against the other, and 
caused the mysterious sound already mentioned. 
Rolf, much terrified, crossed himself, while the 
bold Sintram called out to the stranger : “What 
art thou doing there ? Give an account of thy 
solitary labors.” 

“I live in death,” replied that other one, with 
a fearful grin. 

“ Whose are those bones on thy clothes ? ” 

“ They are relics, young sir.” 

“ Art thou a pilgrim ? ” 

“ Restless, quietless, I wander up and down.” 

“ Thou must not perish here in the snow be- 
fore my eyes.” 

“That! will not.” 

“Thou must come up and sit on my horse.” 

“That I will.” And all at once he started up 
out of the snow with surprising strength and 
agility, and sat on the horse behind Sintram, 
clasping him tight in his long arms. The horse, 
startled by the rattling of the bones, and as if 
seized with madness, rushed away through the 
most trackless passes. The boy soon found 


i 84 Sintram ant) Ibis Companions 


himself alone with his strange companion ; for 
Rolf, breathless with fear, spurred on his horse 
in vain, and remained far behind them. From 
a snowy precipice the horse slid, without falling, 
into a narrow gorge, somewhat indeed exhaust- 
ed, yet continuing to snort and foam as before, 
and still unmastered by the boy. Yet, his head- 
long course being now changed into a rough, 
irregular trot, Sintram was able to breathe more 
freely, and to begin the following discourse with 
his unknown companion. 

“ Draw thy garment closer around thee, thou 
pale man, so the bones will not rattle, and I 
shall be able to curb my horse.” 

“ It would be of no avail, boy ; it would be of 
no avail. The bones must rattle. ” 

“ Do not clasp me so tight with thy long 
arms ; they are so cold.” 

“ It cannot be helped, boy, it cannot be 
helped. Be content. For my long cold arms 
are not pressing yet on thy heart.” 

“ Do not breathe on me so with thy icy 
breath. All my strength is departing.” 

“ I must breathe, boy ; I must breathe. But 


Sintram an& Ibis Companions 185 


do not complain. I am not blowing thee 
away.” 

The strange dialogue here came to an end; 
for, to Sintram’s surprise, he found himself on 
an open plain, over which the sun was shining 
brightly, and at no great distance before him 
he saw his father’s castle. While he was think- 
ing whether he might invite the unearthly pil- 
grim to rest there, this one put an end to his 
doubts by throwing himself suddenly off the 
horse, whose wild course was checked by the 
shock. Raising his forefinger, he said to the 
boy : “I know old Biorn of the Fiery Byes 
we41 ; perhaps but too well. Commend me to 
him. It will not need to tell him my name ; he 
will recognize me at the description. ’ ’ So saying, 
the ghastly stranger turned aside into a thick 
fir-wood, and disappeared, rattling amongst the 
tangled branches. 

Slowly and thoughtfully Sintram rode on 
towards his father’s castle, his horse now again 
quiet and altogether exhausted. He scarcely 
knew how much he ought to relate of his 
wonderful journey, and he also felt oppressed 


i86 Sintram anO Ibis Companions 

with anxiety for the good Rolf, who had re- 
mained so far behind. He found himself at the 
castle gate sooner than he had expected ; the 
draw-bridge was lowered, the doors were thrown 
open ; an attendant led the youth into the 
great hall, where Biorn was sitting all alone at 
a huge table, with many flagons and glasses be- 
fore him, and suits of armor ranged on either 
side of him. It was his daily custom, by way 
of company, to have the armor of his ancestors, 
with closed visors, placed all round the table 
at which he sat. The father and son began 
conversing as follows : 

“Where is Rolf?” 

“ I do not know, father; he left me in the 
mountains.” 

‘ ‘ I will have Rolf shot if he cannot take 
better care than that of my only child.” 

“ Then, father, you will have your only 
child shot at the same time, for without 
Rolf I cannot live ; and if even one single 
dart is aimed at him, I will be there to re- 
ceive it, and to shield his true and faithful 
heart.” 


Sintram anO Ibis Companions 187 


“ So ! — Then Rolf shall not be shot ; but he 
shall be driven from the castle.” 

“ In that case, father, you will see me go 
away also ; and I will give myself up to serve 
him in forests, in mountains, in caves.”- 
“ So ! — Well, then, Rolf must remain here.” 
“That is just what I think, father.” 

‘ Were you riding quite alone ? ” 

“ No, father, but with a strange pilgrim. He 
said that he knew you very well — perhaps too 
well. ’ ’ And thereupon Sintram began to relate 
and to describe all that had passed with the 
pale man. 

“I know him also very well,” said Biom. 
“He is half crazed and half wise, as we some- 
times are astonished at seeing that people can 
be. But do thou, my boy, go to rest after thy 
wild journey. I give you my word that Rolf 
shall be kindly received if he arrive here ; and 
that if he do not come soon, he shall be sought 
for in the mountains.” 

“ I trust to your word, father,” said Sintram, 
half humble, half proud ; and he did after the 
command of the grim lord of the castle. 



CHAPTER IV. 


O WARDS evening Sintram awoke. He 



1 saw the good Rolf sitting at his bed- 
side, and looked up in the old man’s kind 
face with a smile of unusually innocent bright- 
ness. But soon again his dark brows were 
knit, and he asked : “ How did my father 
receive you, Rolf? Did he say a harsh word 
to you ? ” 

“No, my dear young lord, he did not; in- 
deed, he did not speak to me at all. At first 
he looked very wrathful ; but he checked him- 
self, and ordered a servant to bring me food 
and wine to refresh me, and afterwards to take 
me to your room.” 

“He might have kept his word better. But 
he is my father, and I must not judge him too 
hardly. I will now go down to the evening 


Sintram anD Ibie Companions 189 


meal.” So saying, he sprang up and threw on 
his furred mantle. 

But Rolf stopped him, and said, entreatingly : 
“ My dear young master, you would do better to 
take your meal to-day alone here in your own 
apartment ; for there is a guest with your father 
in whose company I should be very sorry to 
see you. If you will remain here I will enter- 
tain you with pleasant tales and songs.” 

“ There is nothing in the world which I 
should like better, dear Rolf,” answered Sin- 
tram ; “but it does not befit me to shun any 
man. Tell me, whom should I find with my 
father? ” 

“Alas!” said the old man, “you have 
already found him in the mountain. Formerly, 
when I used to ride about the country with 
Biorn, we often met with him, but I was for- 
bidden to tell you any thing about him ; and 
this is the first time that he. has ever come to 
the castle.” 

“ The crazy pilgrim ! ” replied Sin tram ; and 
he stood awhile in deep thought, as if con- 
sidering the matter. At last, rousing himself. 


190 Sintram auD Ibis Companions 


he said : “ Dear old friend, I would most 

willingly stay here this evening, all alone with 
you and your stories and songs, and all the pil- 
grims in the world should not entice me from 
this quiet room ; but one thing must be con- 
sidered. I feel a kind of dread of that pale, 
tall man ; and by such fears no knight’s son 
can ever suffer himself to be overcome. So be 
not angry, dear Rolf, if I determine to go and 
look that strange palmer in the face.” And 
he shut the door of the chamber behind him, 
and with firm and echoing steps proceeded to 
the hall. 

The pilgrim and the knight were sitting 
opposite to each other at the great table, on 
which many lights were burning ; and it was 
fearful, amongst all the lifeless armor, to see 
those two tall grim men move, and eat, and 
drink. 

As the pilgrini looked up on the boy’s en- 
trance, Biorn said : “ You know him already ; 

he is my only child, and your fellow-traveller 
this morning.” 

The palmer fixed an earnest look on Sintram, 


Slntram anD Ibis Companione 391 


and answered, shaking his head: “ I know not 
what you mean.” 

Then the boy burst forth impatiently : “It 
must be confessed that you deal very unfairly 
by us ! You say that you know my father but 
too much, and now it seems that you know me 
altogether too little. Look me in the face ; 
who allowed you to ride on his horse, and in 
return had his good steed driven almost wild ? 
Speak, if you can ! ” 

Biorn smiled, shaking his head, but well 
pleased, as was his wont, with his son’s wild 
behavior ; while the pilgrim shuddered as if 
terrified and overcome by some fearful irre- 
sistible power. At length, with a trembling 
voice, he said these words : “Yes, yes, my dear 
young lord, you are surely quite right ; you are 
perfectly right in every thing which you may 
please to assert.” 

Then the lord of the castle laughed aloud, 
and said : “ Why, thou strange pilgrim, 

what is become of all thy wonderfully fine 
speeches and warnings now ? Has the boy 
all at once struck thee dumb and pow- 


192 Sintram anJ) Ibie Companions 


erless ? Beware, thou prophet - messenger,, 
beware ! ” 

But the palmer cast a fearful look on Biom, 
which seemed to quench the light of his fiery 
eyes, and said solemnly, in a thundering voice : 

‘ ‘ Between me and thee, old man, the case stands 
quite otherwise. We have nothing to reproach 
each other with. And now suffer me to sing a 
song to you on the lute.” He stretched out his 
hand, and took down from the wall a forgotten 
and half-strung lute, which was hanging there ; 
and with surprising skill and rapidity, having 
put it in a state fit for use, he struck some 
chords, and raised this song to the low, melan- 
choly tones of the instrument : 

“ The flow ret was mine own, mine own, 

But I have lost its fragrance rare, 

And knightly name, and freedom fair. 

Through sin, through sin alone. 

“ The flow’ret was thine own, thine own. 

Why cast away what thou didst win ? 

Thou knight no more, but slave of sin, 

Thou ’rt fearfully alone ! ” 

” Have a care ! ” shouted he at the close, in 
a pealing voice, as he pulled the strings so 


Sintram anO Ibis Companions 193 


mightily that they all broke with a clanging 
wail, and a cloud of dust rose from the old lute, 
which spread round him like a mist. 

Sintram had been watching him narrowly 
whilst he was singing, and more and more did 
he feel convinced that it was impossible that 
this man and his fellow-traveller of the morning 
could be one and the same. Nay, the doubt 
rose to a certainty when the stranger again 
looked round at him with the same timid, 
anxious air, and with many excuses and low 
reverences, hung the lute in its old place, and 
then ran out of the hall as if bewildered with 
terror, in strange contrast with the proud and 
stately bearing which he had shown to Biorn. 

The eyes of the boy were now directed to his 
father, and he saw that he had sunk back sense- 
less in his seat, as if struck by a blow. Sin- 
tram’s cries called Rolf and other attendants 
into the hall ; and only by great labor did their 
united efforts awake the lord of the castle. His 
looks were still wild and disordered ; but he 
allowed himself to be taken to rest, quiet, and 
yielding. 



CHAPTER V. 


N illness followed this sudden attack, and 



during the course of it the stout old 
knight, in the midst of his delirious ravings, 
did not cease to affirm confidently that he must 
and should recover. He laughed proudly when 
his fever-fits came on, and rebuked them for 
daring to attack him so needlessly. Then he 
murmured to himself, “That was not the right 
one yet ; there mast still be another one out in 
the cold mountains.” 

Always at such words Sintram involuntarily 
shuddered ; they seemed to strengthen his notion 
that he who had ridden with him and he who 
had sat at the table in the castle were two quite 
distinct persons ; and he knew not why, but 
this thought was inexpressibly awful to him. 

Biorn recovered, and appeared to have entire- 
ly forgotten his adventure with the palmer. 
He hunted in the mountains ; he carried on his 


Slntram anJ) 1 bf 6 Companions 195 


usual wild warfare with his neighbors ; and Sin- 
tram, as he grew up, became his almost con- 
stant companion ; whereby each year a fearful 
strength of body and spirit was unfolded in the 
youth. Every one trembled at the sight of his 
sharp, pallid features, his dark rolling eyes, his 
tall, muscular, and somewhat lean form ; and 
yet no one hated him — not even those whom he 
distressed or injured in his wildest humors. 
This might arise in part out of regard to old 
Rolf, who seldom left him for long, and who 
always held a softening influence over him ; 
but also many of those who had known the 
Lady Verena while she still lived in the world 
affirmed that a faint reflection of her heavenly 
expression floated over the very unlike features 
of her son, and that by this their hearts were 
won. 

Once, just at the beginning of spring, Biorn 
and his son were hunting in the neighborhood 
of the sea-coast, over a tract of country which 
did not belong to them ; drawn thither less by 
the love of sport than by the wish of bidding 
deflance to a chieftain whom they detested, and 


196 Sintram and fbfs Companions 


thus exciting a feud. At that season of the 
year, when his winter dreams had just passed 
off, Sintram was always unusually fierce and 
disposed to warlike adventures. And this day 
he was enraged at the chieftain for not coming 
in arms from his castle to hinder their hunting, 
and he cursed in the wildest words his tame 
patience and love of peace. Just then one of 
his wild young companions rushed towards him 
shouting joyfully : “Be content, my dear young 
lord ! I will wager that all is coming about as 
we and you wish ; for as I was pursuing a 
wounded deer down to the seashore I saw a sail 
and a vessel filled with armed men making for 
the shore. Doubtless your enemy purposes to 
fall upon you from the coast.” 

Joyfully and secretly Sintram called all his 
followers together, being resolved this time to 
take the combat on himself alone, and then to 
rejoin his father, and astonish him with the sight 
of captured foes and other tokens of victory. 

The hunters, thoroughly acquainted with 
every cliff and rock on the coast, hid them- 
selves round the landing-place ; and soon the 


Sintcam anD Ibie Companions 197 


strange vessel hove nearer with swelling sails, 
till at length it came to anchor, and its crew 
began to disembark in unsuspicious security. 
At the head of them appeared a knight of high 
degree, in blue steel armor richly inlaid with 
gold. His head was bare, for he carried his 
costly golden helmet hanging on his left arm. 
He looked royally around him, and his counte- 
nance, which dark-brown locks shaded, was 
pleasant to behold, and a well-trimmed mous- 
tache fringed his mouth, from which, as he 
smiled, gleamed forth two rows of pearl-white 
teeth. 

A feeling came across Sintram that he must * 
already have seen this knight somewhere, and 
he stood motionless for a few moments. But 
suddenly he raised his hand to make the agreed 
signal of attack. In vain did the good Rolf, 
who had just succeeded in getting up to him, 
whisper in his ear that these could not be the 
foes whom he had taken them for, but that 
they were unknown, and certainly high and 
noble strangers. 

“Let them be who they may,” replied the 


igs Sintram anO Ibis Companions 


wild youth; “they have enticed me here to 
wait, and they shall pay the penalty of thus 
fooling me. Say not another word, if you value 
your life.” And immediately he gave the sig- 
nal a thick shower of j avelins followed from all 
sides, and the Norwegian warriors rushed forth 
with flashing swords. They found their foes as 
brave, or somewhat braver than they could 
have desired. More fell on the side of those 
who made than of those who received the 
assault ; and the strangers appeared to under- 
stand surprisingly the Norwegian manner of 
fighting. The knight in steel armor had not in 
his haste put on his helmet ; but it seemed as 
if he in no wise needed such protection, for his 
good sword afforded him sufficient defence 
even against the spears and darts which were 
incessantly hurled at him, as with rapid skill he 
received them on the shining blade, and dashed 
them far away, shivered into fragments. 

Sintram could not at the first onset penetrate 
to where this shining hero was standing, as all 
his followers, eager after such a noble prey,, 
thronged closely around him ; but now the way 


Sintram anD Ibis Companions 199 


'was cleared enough for him to spring towards 
the brave stranger, shouting a war-cry, and 
brandishing his sword above his head. 

“ Gabrielle !” cried the knight, as he dexter- 
ously parried the heavy blow which was descend- 
ing, and with one powerful sword-thrust he laid 
the youth prostrate on the ground ; then plac- 
ing his knee on Sintram’s breast, he drew forth 
a flashing dagger, and held it before his eyes as 
he lay astonished. All at once the men-at-arms 
stood round like walls. Sintram felt that no 
hope remained for him. He determined to die 
as it became a bold warrior, and without giving 
one sign of emotion, he looked on the fatal 
weapon with a steady gaze. 

As he lay with his eyes cast upwards, he 
fancied that there appeared suddenly from 
heaven a wondrously beautiful female form in 
the bright attire of blue and gold. “ Our ances- 
tors told truly of the Valkyrias,” murmured he. 
“Strike, then, thou unknown conqueror.” 

But with this the knight did* not comply, 
neither was it a Valkyria who had so suddenly 
appeared, but the beautiful wife of the stranger, 


200 Sintram anD Ibis Companions 


who, having advanced to the high edge of 
the vessel, had thus met the upraised look of 
Sintram. 

“ Folko,” cried she, in the softest tone, “thou 
knight without reproach ! I know that thou 
sparest the vanquished.” 

The knight sprang up, and with courtly grace 
stretched out his hand to the conquered youth, 
saying : “ Thank the noble lady of Montfaucon 
for your life and liberty. But if you are so 
totally devoid of all goodness as to wish to re- 
sume the combat, here am I ; let it be yours to 
begin.” 

Sintram sank, deeply ashamed, on his knees, 
and wept ; for he had often heard speak of the 
high renown of the French Knight Folko of 
Montfaucon, who was related to his father’s 
house, and of the grace and beauty of his gentle 
lady, Gabrielle. 




CHAPTER VI. 



HE Eord of Montfaucon looked with aston- 


^ ishment at his strange foe ; and as he 
gazed on him more and more, recollections 
arose in his mind of that northern race from 
whom he was descended, and with whom he 
had always maintained friendly relations. A 
golden bear’s claw, with which Sintram’s cloak 
was fastened, at length made all clear to him. 

“ Have you not,” said he, ” a valiant and far- 
famed kinsman, called the Sea-king Arinbiom, 
who carries on his helmet golden vulture 
wings ? And is not your father the Knight 
Biom ? For surely the bear’s claw on your 
mantle must be the cognizance of your house.” 

Sintram assented to all this in deep and hum- 
ble shame. 

The Knight of Montfaucon raised him from 
the ground, and said gravely, yet gently : “We 
are, then, of kin the one to the other ; but I 


1202 Sfntram anD Ibis Companions 


never could have believed that any one of our 
noble house would attack a peaceful man with- 
out provocation, and that, too, without giving 
warning.” 

“ Slay me at once,” answered Sintram, “if 
indeed I am worthy to die by so noble hands. 
I can no longer endure the light of day.” 

‘ ‘ Because you have been overcome ? ’ ’ asked 
Montfaucon. 

Sintram shook his head. 

“ Or is it rather because you have committed 
an unknightly action ? ” 

The glow of shame that overspread the 
youth’s countenance said yes to this. 

“ But you should not on that account wish to 
die,” continued Montfaucon. “You should 
rather wish to live, that you may prove your 
repentance, and make your name illustrious by 
many noble deeds ; for you are endowed with a 
bold spirit and with strength of limb, and also 
with the eagle-glance of a chieftain. I should 
have made you a knight this very hour if you 
had borne yourself as bravely in a good cause 
as you have just now in a bad. See to it that I 


Sintram an& Ibis Companions 203 


may do it soon. You may yet become a vessel 
of high honor.” 

A joyous sound of shawms and silver rebecks 
interrupted his discourse. The lady Gabrielle, 
bright as the morning, had now come down 
from the ship, surrounded by her maidens ; 
and, instructed in a few words by Folko, who 
was his late foe, she took the combat as some 
mere trial of arms, saying : “You must not be 
cast down, noble youth, because my wedded 
lord has won the prize ; for be it known to you 
that in the whole world there is but one knight 
who can boast of not having been overcome by 
the Baron of Montfaucon. And who can say,” 
continued she, sportively, “ whether even that 
would have happened, had he not set himself 
to win back the magic ring from me, his lady- 
love, destined to him as well by the choice of 
my own heart as by the will of Heaven ! ” 

Folko, smiling, bent his head over the snow- 
white hand of his lady ; and then bade the 
youth conduct them to his father’s castle. 

Rolf took upon himself to see to the disem- 
barking of the horses and valuables of the 


204 Sintram ant> fbie Companione 


strangers, filled with joy at the thought that an 
angel in woman’s form had appeared to soften 
his beloved young master, and perhaps even to 
free him from that early curse. 

Sintram sent messengers in all directions to 
seek for his father, and to announce to him the 
arrival of his noble guests. They therefore 
found the old knight in his castle, with every- 
thing prepared for their reception. Gabrielle 
could not enter the vast, dark-looking building 
without a slight shudder, which was increased 
when she saw the rolling fiery eyes of its lord ; 
even the pale, dark-haired Sintram seemed to 
her very fearful ; and she sighed to herself : 
“Oh ! what an awful abode have you brought 
me to visit, my knight ! Would that we were 
once again in my sunny Gascony, or in your 
knightly Normandy ! ” 

But the grave yet courteous reception, the 
deep respect paid to her grace and beauty, and 
to the high fame of Folko, helped to reassure 
her ; and soon her bird-like pleasure in novel- 
ties was awakened through the strange signifi- 
cant appearances of this new world. And 


Slntram anC) Ibis Companlone 205 


besides, it could only be for a passing moment 
that any womanly fears found a place in her 
breast when her lord was near at hand, for well 
did she know what effectual protection that 
brave baron was ever ready to afford to all those 
who were dear to him or committed to his 
charge. 

Soon afterwards Rolf passed through the 
great hall in which Biorn and his guests were 
seated, conducting their attendants, who had 
charge of the baggage, to their rooms. Gabri- 
elle caught sight of her favorite lute, and desired 
a page to bring it to her, that she might see if 
the precious instrument had been injured by 
the sea voyage. As she bent over it with earnest 
attention, and her taper fingers ran up and 
down the strings, a smile like the dawn of 
spring passed over the dark countenances of 
Biom and his son ; and both said, with an in- 
voluntary sigh : ‘ ‘ Ah ! if you would but play 
on that lute, and sing to it ! It would be but 
too beautiful ! ” The lady looked up at them, 
well pleased, and smiling her assent, she began 
this song : 


2o6 Sintram and Ibis Companions 


“ Songs and flowers are returning, 

And radiant skies of May, 

Barth her choicest gifts is yielding. 

But one is past away. 

“ The spring that clothes with tend’rest green 
Bach grove and sunny plain 
Shines not for my forsaken heart. 

Brings not my joys again. 

“ Warble not so, thou nightingale. 

Upon thy blooming spray. 

Thy sweetness now will burst my heart, 

I cannot bear thy lay. 

“ For flowers and birds are come again. 

And breezes mild of May, 

But treasured hopes and golden hours 
Are lost to me for aye.” 

The two Norwegians sat plunged in melan- 
choly thought ; but especially Sintram’s eyes 
began to brighten with a milder expression, his 
cheeks glowed, every feature softened, till those 
who looked at him could have fancied they saw 
a glorified spirit. The good Rolf, who had stood 
listening to the song, rejoiced thereat from his 
heart, and devoutly raised his hands in pious 
gratitude to Heaven. But Gabrielle’s astonish- 
ment suffered her not to take her eyes from 
Sintram. At last she said to him : “I should 


Sintram auD 1bi0 Companiona 207 


much like to know what has so struck you in 
that little song. It is merely a simple lay of the 
spring, full of the images which that sweet sea- 
son never fails to call up in the minds of my 
countrymen.” 

“But is your home really so lovely, so won- 
drously rich in song?” cried the enraptured 
Sintram. “ Then I am no longer surprised at 
your heavenly beauty, at the power which you 
exercise over my hard, wayward heart ! For a 
paradise of song must surely send such angelic 
messengers through the ruder parts of the 
world.” And so saying, he fell on his knees 
before the lady in an attitude of deep humility. 
Folko looked on all the while with an approving 
smile, whilst Gabrielle, in much embarrassment, 
seemed hardly to know how to treat the half- 
wild, half-tamed young stranger. After some 
hesitation, however, she held out her fair hand 
to him, and said, as she gently raised him : 
“Surely one who listens with such delight to 
music must himself know how to awaken its 
strains. Take my lute, and let us hear a grace- 
ful inspired song.” 


2o8 Sintram anC) Ibis Companions 

But Sintram drew back, and would not take 
the instrument ; and he said : “ Heaven forbid 
that my rough, untutored hand should touch 
those delicate strings ! For even were I to be- 
gin with some soft strains, yet before long the 
wild spirit which dwells in me would break 
out, and there would be an end of the form and 
sound of the beautiful instrument. No, no ; 
suffer me rather to fetch my own huge harp 
strung with bears’ sinews set in brass, for in 
truth I do feel myself inspired to play and 
sing.” 

Gabrielle murmured a half-frightened assent ; 
and Sintram having quickly brought his harp, 
began to strike it loudly, and to sing these 
words with a voice no less powerful : 

“ ‘ Sir knight, sir knight, oh ! whither away 
With thy snow-white sail on the foaming spray ? ’ 
Sing heigh, sing ho, for that land of flowers I 

“ ‘ Too long have I trod upon ice and snow ; 

I seek the bowers where roses blow.’ 

Sing heigh, sing ho, for that land of flowers ! 

“ He steered on his course by night and day 
Till he cast his anchor in Naples Bay. 

Sing heigh, sing ho, for that land of flowers I 


Slntram anC) 1 bf 6 Companions 209 


“ There wandered a lady upon the strand, 

Her fair hair bound with a golden band. 

Sing heigh, sing ho, for that land of flowers ! 

“ ‘ Hail to thee ! hail to thee ! lady bright. 

Mine own shalt thou be ere morning light.’ 

Sing heigh, sing ho, for that land of flowers 1 

“ ‘ Not so, sir knight,’ the lady replied. 

‘ For you speak to the margrave’s chosen bride.’ 
Sing heigh, sing ho, for that land of flowers I 

“ ‘ Your lover may come with his shield and spear, 
And the victor shall win thee, lady dear ! ’ 

Sing heigh, sing ho, for that land of flowers ! 

“ ‘ Nay, seek for another bride, I pray ; 

Most fair are the maidens of Naples Bay.’ 

Sing heigh, sing ho, for that land of flowers ? 

“ ‘ No, lady ; for thee my heart doth burn. 

And the world cannot now my purpose turn.’ 

Sing heigh, sing ho, for that land of flowers I 

“ Then came the young margrave, bold and brave ; 

But low was he laid in a grassy grave. 

Sing heigh, sing ho, for that land of flowers I 

“ And then the fierce Northman joyously cried : 

‘ Now shall I possess lands, castle, and bride ! ’ 

Sing heigh, sing ho, for that land of flowers ! ” 

Sintram’s song was ended, but bis eyes glared 
wildly, and the vibrations of the harp-strings 


210 Sfntram anD Ibie Companione 


still resounded in a marvellous manner. Biom’s 
attitude was again erect ; he stroked his long 
beard and rattled his sword, as if in great de- 
light at what he had just heard. Much shud- 
dered Gabrielle before the wild song and these 
strange forms, but only till she cast a glance on 
the I/ord of Montfaucon, who sat there smiling 
in all his hero strength, unmoved, while the 
rough uproar passed by him like an autumnal 
storm. 




CHAPTER VII. 


OOME weeks after this, in the twilight of 
^ evening, Sintram, very disturbed, came 
down to the castle-garden. Although the pres- 
ence of Gabrielle never failed to soothe and 
calm him, yet if she left the apartment for even 
a few instants the fearful wildness of his spirit 
seemed to return with renewed strength. So 
even now, after having long and kindly read 
legends of the olden times to his father Biorn, 
she had retired to her chamber. The tones of 
her lute could be distinctly heard in the garden 
below ; but the sounds only drove the be- 
wildered youth more impetuously through the 
shades of the ancient elms. Stooping suddenly 
to avoid some overhanging branches, he unex- 
pectedly came upon something against which 
he had almost struck, and which, at first sight. 


\ 


212 Sintram anD Ibis Companions 


he took for a small bear standing on its hind 
legs, with a long and strangely crooked horn 
on its head. He drew back in surprise and 
fear. It addressed him in a grating man’s 
voice : “ Well, my brave young knight, whence 
come you ? whither go you ? wherefore so terri- 
fied?” And then first he saw that he had be- 
fore him a little old man so wrapped up in a 
rough garment of fur that scarcely one of his 
features was visible, and wearing in his cap a 
strange-looking long feather. 

“ But whence come you ? and whither go 
youf^^ returned the angry Sintram. “For of 
you such questions should be asked. What 
have you to do in our domains, you hideous 
little being? ” 

“ Well, well,” sneered the other one, “ I am 
thinking that I am quite big enough as I am — 
one cannot always be a giant. And as to the 
rest, why should you find fault that I go here 
hunting for snails? Surely snails do not belong 
to the game which your high mightinesses 
consider that you alone have a right to follow ! 
Now, on the other hand, I know how to pre- 


Sintram anD 1 bi 6 Companions 213 


pare from them an excellent high-flavored 
drink ; and I have taken enough for to-day : 
marvellous fat little beasts, with wise faces 
like a man’s, and long twisted horns on their 
heads. Would you like to see them ? Look 
here ! ” 

And then he began to unfasten and fumble 
about his fur garment ; but Sintram, filled with 
disguest and horror, said, “Psha ! I detest such 
animals ! Be quiet, and tell me at once who 
and what you yourself are.” 

“ Are you so bent upon knowing my name ? ” 
replied the little man. “Let it content you 
that I am master of all secret knowledge, and 
well versed in the most intricate depths of an- 
cient history. Ah ! my young sir, if you would 
only hear them ! But you are afraid of me.” 

“Afraid of you ! ” cried Sintram, with a wild 
laugh. 

“ Many a better man than you has been so 
before now,” muttered the little Master; “but 
they did not like being told of it any more than 
you do.” 

“To prove that you are mistaken,” said Sin- 


214 Sintram an^) Ibis Companions 


tram, “I will remain here with you till the 
moon stands high in the heavens. But you 
must tell me one of your stories the while.” 

The little man, much pleased, nodded his 
head ; and as they paced together up and down 
a retired elm-walk, he began discoursing as fob 
lows : — 

“ Many hundred years ago a young knight, 
called Paris of Troy, lived in that sunny land of 
the south where are found the sweetest songs, 
the brightest flowers, and the most beautiful 
ladies. You know a song that tells of that fair 
land, do you not, young sir ? ‘ Sing heigh, sing 

ho, for that land of flowers. ’ ” Sintram bowed 
his head in assent, and sighed deeply. “ Now,” 
resumed the little Master, “it happened that 
Paris led that kind of life which is not uncom- 
mon in those countries, and of which their poets 
often sing — he would pass whole months to- 
gether in the garb of a peasant, piping in the 
woods and mountains, and pasturing his flocks. 
Here one day three beautiful sorceresses ap- 
peared to him, disputing about a golden apple ; 
and from him they sought to know which of 


Sintram auD Ibis Companions 215 


them was the most beautiful, since to her the 
golden fruit was to be awarded. The first knew 
how to give thrones, and sceptres, and love 
charms which could not fail of securing the 
affections of the fairest of women. Bach one in 
turn proffered her choicest gifts to the young 
shepherd, in order that, tempted by them, he 
might adjudge, the apple to her. But as fair 
women charmed him more than any thing else 
in the world, he said that the third was the 
most beautiful — her name was Venus. The 
two others departed in great displeasure ; but 
Venus bid him put on his knightly armor and 
his helmet adorned with waving feathers, and 
then she led him to a famous city called Sparta, 
where ruled the noble Duke Menelaus. His 
young Duchess Helen was the loveliest woman 
on earth, and the sorceress offered her to Paris 
in return for the golden apple. He was most 
ready to have her, and wished for nothing bet- 
ter ; but he asked how he was to gain possession 
ofher.’’ 

“Paris must have been a sorry knight,” in- 
terrupted Sintram. “Such things are easily 


2i 6 Sintram ant) Ibis Companions 


settled. The husband is challenged to a single 
combat, and he that is victorious carries off the 
wife.” 

“But Duke Menelaus was the host of the 
young knight,” said the narrator. 

“ Listen to me, little Master,” cried Sintram ; 
“he might have asked the sorceress for some 
other beautiful woman, and then have mounted 
his horse, or weighed anchor, and departed.” 

“Yes, yes; it is very easy to say so,” replied 
the old man. “ But if you only knew how be- 
witchingly lovely this Duchess Helen was, no 
room was left for change.” And then he began 
a glowing description of the charms of this 
wondrously beautiful woman, but likening the 
image to Gabrielle so closely, feature for feature, 
that Sintram, tottering, was forced to lean 
against a tree. The little Master stood opposite 
to him grinning, and asked, “Well now, could 
you have advised that poor knight Paris to fly 
from her ? ” 

$ 

“Tell me at once what happened next,”^ 
stammered Sintram. 

“The sorceress acted honorably towards 


Sintram ant) Ibis Companions 217 


Paris,” continued the old man. “ She declared 
to him that if he would carry away the lovely 
duchess to his own city Troy, he might do so, 
and thus cause the ruin of his whole house and 
of his country; but that during ten years he 
would be able to defend himself in Troy, and 
rejoice in the sweet love of Helen.” 

“And he accepted those terms, or he was a 
fool ! ” cried the youth. 

“To be sure he accepted them,” whispered 
the little Master. “ I would have done so in 
his place ! And do you know, young sir, the 
look of things then was just as they are happen- 
ing to-day. The newly risen moon, partly 
veiled by clouds, was shining dimly through 
the thick branches of the trees in the silence of 
evening. Leaning against an old tree, as you 
now are doing, stood the young enamoured 
Knight Paris, and at his side the enchantress 
Venus, but so disguised and transformed, that 
she did not look much more beautiful than I 
do. And by the silvery light of the moon, the 
form of the beautiful beloved one was seen 
sweeping by alone amidst the whispering 


2i 8 Sintram anO 1b(5 Companions 


boughs.” He was silent, and like as in the 
mirror of his deluding words, Gabrielle just 
then actually herself appeared, musing as she 
walked alone down the alley of elms. 

“ Man, — fearful Master, — by what name shall 
I call you? To what would you drive me?” 
muttered the trembling Sintram. 

“Thou knowest thy father’s strong stone 
castle on the Moon-rocks ! ” replied the old 
man. “ The castellan and the garrison are true 
and devoted to thee. It could stand a ten year’s 
siege; and the little gate which leads to the 
hills is open, as was that of the citadel of Sparta 
for Paris.” 

And, in fact, the youth saw through a gate, 
left open he knew not how, the dim distant 
mountains glittering in the moonlight. “And 
if he did not accept, he was a fool,” said the 
little Master, with a grin, echoing Sintram’s 
former words. 

At that moment Gabrielle stood close by him. 
She was within reach of his grasp, had he made 
the least movement ; and a moonbeam, sud- 
denly breaking forth, transfigured, as it were. 


Sintram atiD Ibis Companions 219 


her heavenly beauty. The youth had already 
bent forward — 

“ My Lord and God, I pray, 

Turn from his heart away 
This world’s turmoil ; 

And call him to Thy light, 

Be it through sorrow’s night, 

Through pain or toil.” 

These words were sung by old Rolf at that 
very time, as he lingered on the still margin of 
the castle fish-pond, where he prayed alone to 
Heaven, full of foreboding care. They reached 
Sintram’s ear ; he stood as if spellbound, and 
made the Sign of the Cross. Immediately the 
little Master fled away, jumping uncouthly on 
one leg, through the gates, and shutting them 
after him with a yell. 

Gabrielle shuddered, terrified at the wild 
noise. Sintram approached her softly, and 
said, offering his arm to her : “ Suffer me to 
lead you back to the castle. The night in 
these northern regions is often wild and 
fearful.” 



CHAPTER VIII. 

T hey found the two knights drinking wine 
within. Folko was relating stories in his 
usual mild and cheerful manner, and Biorn was 
listening with a moody air, hut yet as if, against 
his will, the dark cloud might pass away before 
that bright and gentle courtesy. Gabrielle 
saluted the baron with a smile, and signed to 
him to continue his discourse, as she took her 
place near the Knight Biorn, full of watchful 
kindness. Sintram stood by the hearth, ab- 
stracted and melancholy ; and the embers, as 
he stirred them, cast a strange glow over his 
pallid features. 

^ “ And of all the German trading towns,” con- 

tinued Montfaucon, “ the largest and richest is 
Hamburgh. In Normandy we willingly see 
their merchants land on our coasts, and those 


Sintram anD Ibis Companions 221 


excellent people never fail to prove themselves 
our friends when we seek their advice and 
assistance. When I first visited Hamburgh, 
every honor and respect was paid to me. I 
found its inhabitants engaged in a war with a 
neighboring count, and immediately I used my 
sword for them vigorously and successfully.” 

“ Your sword ! your knightly sword ! ” inter- 
rupted Biom ; and the old wonted fire flashed 
from his eyes. “ Against a knight, and for 
shopkeepers ! ” 

“Sir knight,” replied Folko calmly, “the 
barons of Montfaucon have ever used their 
swords as they chose, without the interference 
of another ; and as I have received this good 
custom, so do I wish to hand it on. If you 
agree not to this, so speak it freely out. But I 
forbid every rude word against the men of 
Hamburgh, since I have declared them to be 
my friends.” 

Biorn cast down his haughty eyes, and their 
fire faded away. In a low voice he said : “Pro- 
ceed, noble baron. You are right, and I am 
wrong.” 


222 Sintram anO 1bi6 Gompanions 


Then Folko stretched out his hand to him 
across the table, and resumed his narration : 
“ Amongst all my beloved Hamburghers the 
dearest to me are two men of marvellous ex- 
perience — a father and son. What have they 
not seen and done in the remotest comers of 
the earth, and instituted in their native town ? 
Praise be to God, my life cannot be called un- 
fruitful ; but, compared with the wise Gotthard 
Lenz and his stout-hearted son Rudlieb, I look 
upon myself as an esquire who has perhaps been 
some few times to tourneys, and, besides that, has 
never hunted out of his own forests. They have 
converted, subdued, gladdened dark men whom 
I know not how to name ; and the wealth which 
they have brought back with them has all been 
devoted to the common weal, as if fit for no 
other purpose. On their return from their long 
and perilous sea-voyages they hasten to a hos- 
pital which has been founded by them, and 
where they undertake the part of overseers, and 
of careful and patient nurses. Then they pro- 
ceed to select the most fitting spots whereon to 
erect new towers and fortresses for the defence 


Sintcam anO 1 bl 6 Companions 223 


of their beloved country. Next they repair to 
the houses where strangers and travellers re- 
ceive hospitality at their cost ; and at last they 
return to their own abode, to entertain their 
guests, rich and noble like kings, and simple 
and unconstrained like shepherds. Many a tale 
of their wondrous adventures serves to enliven 
these sumptuous feasts. Amongst others, I re- 
member to have heard my friends relate one at 
which my hair stood on end. Possibly I may 
gain some more complete information on the 
subject from you. It appears that several years 
ago, just about the time of the Christmas festi- 
val, Gotthard and Rudlieb were shipwrecked on 
the coast of Norway, during a violent winter 
tempest. They could never exactly ascertain 
the situation of the rocks on which their vessel 
stranded ; but so much is certain, that very 
near the seashore stood a huge castle, to which 
the father and son betook themselves, seeking 
for that assistance and shelter which Christian 
people are ever willing to afford each other in 
case of need. They went alone, leaving their 
followers to watch the injured ship. The castle 


224 Sintram Ibie Companions 


gates were thrown open, and they thought all 
was well. But on a sudden the court-yard was 
filled with armed men, who with one accord 
aimed their sharp iron-pointed spears at the 
defenceless strangers ; whose dignified remon- 
strances and mild entreaties were only heard in 
sullen silence or with scornful jeerings. After 
a while a knight came down the stairs, with 
fire-flashing eyes. They hardly knew whether 
to think they saw a spectre or a wild heathen ; 
he gave a signal, and the fatal spears closed 
around them. At that instant the soft tones of 
a woman’s voice fell on their ear, calling on the 
Saviour’s holy name for aid ! at the sound the 
spectres in the court-yard rushed madly one 
against the other, the gates burst open, and 
Gotthard and Rudlieb fled away, catching a 
glimpse as they went of an angelic woman who ' 
appeared at one of the windows of the castle. 
They made every exertion to get their ship 
again afloat, choosing to trust themselves to 
the sea rather than to that barbarous coast ; 
and at last, after manifold dangers, they landed 
in Denmark. They say that some heathen 


Sintram anD Ibis Companions 225 


must have owned the cruel castle ; but I hold 
it to be some ruined fortress, deserted by men, 
in which hellish spectres were wont to hold 
their nightly meetings. What heathen could 
be found so demon-like as to offer death to 
shipwrecked strangers, instead of refreshment 
and shelter? ” 

Biorn gazed fixedly on the ground, as though 
he were turned into stone ; but Sintram came 
towards the table, and said: “Father, let us 
seek out this godless abode, and lay it level 
with the dust. I cannot tell how, but somehow 
I feel quite sure that the accursed deed of which 
we have just heard is alone the cause of my 
frightful dreams.” 

Enraged at his son, Biorn rose up, and would 
perhaps again have uttered some dreadful 
words ; but Heaven decreed otherwise, for just 
at that moment the pealing notes of a trumpet 
were heard, which drowned the angry tones of 
his voice, the great doors opened slowly, and a 
herald entered the hall. He bowed reverently, 
and then said : “I am sent by Jarl Eric the 
Aged. He returned two days ago from his ex- 


226 Sfntram anO Ibis Companions 


pedition to the Grecian seas. His wish had 
been to take vengeance on the island which is 
called Chios, where fifty years ago his father 
was slain by the soldiers of the Emperor. But 
your kinsman, the sea-king Arinbiorn, who was 
lying there at anchor, tried to pacify him. To 
this Jarl Eric would not listen ; so the sea-king 
said next that he would never suffer Chios to 
be laid waste, because it was an island where 
the lays of an old Greek bard, called Homer, 
were excellently sung, and where, moreover, a 
very choice wine was made. Words proving 
of no avail, a combat ensued, in which Arin- 
biorn had so much the advantage that Jarl Eric 
lost two of his ships, and only with difficulty 
escaped in one which had already sustained 
great damage. Eric the Aged has now resolved 
to take revenge on some of the sea-king’s race, 
since Arinbiorn himself is seldom on the spot. 
Will you, Biom of the Fiery Eyes, at once pay 
as large a penalty in cattle, and money, and 
goods as it may please the Jarl to demand ? Or 
will you prepare to meet him with an armed 
force at Niflung’s Heath seven days hence ? ” 


Sintcam anO Ibis Companions 227 


Biorn bowed liis head quietly, and replied in 
a mild tone : “ Seven days hence at Niflung’s 
Heath. ’ ’ He then offered to the herald a golden 
goblet full of rich wine, and added : “ Drink 
that, and then carry off with thee the cup which 
thou hast emptied.” 

“ The Baron of Montfaucon likewise sends 
greeting to thy chieftain, Jarl Eric,” interposed 
Folko, “and engages to be also at Niflung’s 
Heath, as the hereditary friend of the sea-king, 
and also as the kinsman and guest of Biom of 
the Fiery Eyes.” 

The herald was seen to tremble at the name of 
Montfaucon ; he bowed very low, cast an anxious, 
reverential look at the baron, and left the hall. 

Gabrielle looked on her knight, smiling lov- 
ingly and securely, for she well knew, his 
victorious prowess ; and she only asked : 
“Where shall I remain whilst you go forth to 
battle, Folko ? ” 

“I had hoped,” answered Biorn, “that you 
would be well contented to stay in this castle, 
lovely lady ; I leave my son to guard you and 
attend on you.” 


228 Sintram anJ) Ibie Companions 


Gabrielle hesitated an instant, and Sintram, 
who had resumed his position near the fire, 
muttered to himself as he fixed his eyes on the 
bright flames which were flashing up: “Yes, 
yes, so it will probably happen. I can fancy 
that Duke Menelaus had just left Sparta on 
some warlike expedition, when the young 
Knight Paris met the lovely Helen that evening 
in the garden.” 

But Gabrielle, shuddering, although she knew 
not why, said quickly : “ Without you, Folko ? 
And must I forego the joy of seeing you fight ? 
or the honor of tending you, should you chance 
to receive a wound ? ” 

Folko bowed, gracefully thanking his lady, 
and replied: “Come with your knight, since 
such is your pleasure, and be to him a bright 
guiding star. It is a good old northern custom 
that ladies should be present at knightly com- 
bats, and no true warrior of the north will fail 
to respect the place whence beams the light 
of their eyes. Unless, indeed,” continued he, 
with an inquiring look at Biorn, “unless Jarl 
Eric is not worthy of his forefather ? ” 


Sintram an& 1 bi 6 Companions 229 


“A man of honor,” said Biorn, confidently. 

“Then array yourself, my fairest love,” said 
the delighted Folko ; “ array yourself, and come 
forth with us to the battle-field to behold and 
judge our deeds.” 

“ Come forth with us to the battle,” echoed 
Sintram, in a sudden transport of joy. 

And they all dispersed in calm cheerfulness, 
Sintram betaking himself again to the wood, 
while the others retired to rest. 






CHAPTER IX. 


I T was a wild, dreary tract of country, that 
which bore the name of Niflung’s Heath, 
According to tradition, the young Niflung, son 
of Hogni, the last of his race, had there ended 
darkly a sad and unsuccessful life. Many an- 
cient grave-stones were still standing round 
about ; and in the few oak-trees scattered here 
and there over the plain, huge eagles had built 
their nests. The beating of their heavy wings 
as they fought together, and their wild screams, 
were heard far off in more thickly-peopled re- 
gions ; and at the sound children would tremble 
in their cradles, and old men quake with fear 
as they slumbered over the blazing hearth. 

As the seventh night, the last before the day 
of combat, was just beginning, two large armies 
were seen descending from the hills in opposite 
directions ; that which came from the west was 


Sintram anC) 1 bi 6 Companions 231 


commanded by Eric the Aged, that from the 
east by Biorn of the Fiery Eyes. They ap- 
peared thus early in compliance with the cus- 
tom which required that adversaries should 
always present themselves at the appointed 
field of battle before the time named, in order 
to prove that they rather sought than dreaded 
the fight. Folko forthwith pitched on the most 
convenient spot the tent of blue samite fringed 
with gold which he carried with him to shelter 
his gentle lady ; whilst Sintram, in the charac- 
ter of herald, rode over to Jarl Eric to announce 
to him that the beauteous Gabrielle of Mont- 
faucon was present in the army of the Knight 
Biom, and would the next morning be present 
as a judge of the combat. 

Jarl Eric bowed low on receiving this pleas- 
ing message, and ordered his bards to strike up 
3. lay, the words of which ran as follows : 


“ Warriors bold of Eric’s band, 

Gird your glittering armor on, 

Stand beneath to-morrow’s sun, 

In your might. 
Fairest dame that ever gladdened 
Our wild shores with beauty’s vision, 


232 Sintram anD Ibis Companions 


May thy bright eyes o’er our combat 
Judge the right ! 

“ Tidings of yon noble stranger 
lyong ago have reached our ears, 

Wafted upon southern breezes, 

O’er the wave. 

Now midst yonder hostile ranks, 

In his warlike pride he meets us, 

Folko comes ! Fight, men of Fric, 

True and brave ! ” 

These wondrous tones floated over the plain, 
and reached the tent of Gabrielle. It was no 
new thing to her to hear her knight’s fame cel- 
ebrated on all sides ; but now that she listened 
to his praises bursting forth in the stillness of 
night from the mouth of his enemies she could 
scarce refrain from kneeling at the feet of the 
mighty chieftain. But he with courteous ten- 
derness held her up, and pre.ssing his lips fer- 
vently on her soft hand, he said, “My deeds, 
O lovely lady, belong to thee, and not to me ! ” 
Now the night had passed away, and the east 
was glowing ; and on Niflung’s Heath there 
was waving, and resounding, and glowing too. 
Knights put on their rattling armour, war- 
horses began to neigh, the morning draught 


Sintram anD 1bi6 Companione 233 

went round in gold and silver goblets, while 
war-songs and the clang of harps resounded 
in the midst. A joyous march was heard in 
Biom’s camp, as Montfaucon, with his troops 
and retainers, clad in bright steel armor, con- 
ducted their lady up to a neighboring hill, 
where she would be safe from the spears which 
would soon be flying in all directions, and 
whence she could look freely over the battle- 
field. The morning sun, as it were in homage, 
played over her beauty ; and as she came in view 
of the camp of Jarl Eric his soldiers lowered 
their weapons, whilst the chieftains bent low 
the crests of their huge helmets. Two of Mont- 
faucon’s pages remained in attendance on Ga- 
brielle ; for so noble a service not unwillingly 
bridling their love of fighting. Both armies 
passed in front of her, saluting her and singing 
as they went ; they then placed themselves in 
array, and the fight began. 

The spears flew from the hands of the stout 
northern warriors, rattling against the broad 
shields under which they sheltered themselves, 
or sometimes clattering as they met in the air ; 


234 Sintram anJ) Ibis Companione 


at intervals, on one side or the other, a man was 
struck, and fell silent in his blood. Then the 
Knight of Montfaucon advanced with his troop 
of Norman horsemen. Even as he dashed past 
he did not fail to lower his shining sword to 
salute Gabrielle ; and then, with an exulting 
war-cry which hurst from many a voice, they 
charged the left wing of the enemy. Eric’s 
foot-soldiers, kneeling firmly, received them, 
with fixed javelins — many a noble horse fell 
wounded to death, and in falling, brought hi& 
rider with him to the ground; others again 
crushed their foes under them in their death- 
fall. Folko rushed through — he and his war- 
steed un wounded — followed by a troop of chosen 
knights. Already were they falling into dis- 
order — already were Biom’s warriors giving 
shouts of victory, when a troop of horse, 
headed by Jarl Eric himself, advanced against 
the valiant baron : whilst his Normans, hastily 
assembled, assisted him in repelling this new 
attack, the enemy’s infantry were gradually 
forming themselves into a thick mass, which 
rolled on and on. All these movements seemed 


Sfntram anC> Ibis Companions 235 


caused by a warrior whose loud piercing shout 
was heard in the midst. And scarcely were the 
troops formed into this strange array, when 
suddenly they spread themselves out on all 
sides, carrying every thing before them with the 
irresistible force of the burning torrent from 
Hecla. 

Biom’s soldiers, who had thought to enclose 
their enemies, lost courage and gave way before 
this wondrous onset. The knight himself in 
vain attempted to stem the tide of fugitives, and 
with difficulty escaped being carried away by it. 

Sintram stood looking on this scene of con- 
fusion with mute indignation ; friends and foes 
passed by him, all equally avoiding him, and 
dreading to come in contact with one whose 
aspect was so fearful, nay, almost unearthly, in 
his motionless rage. He aimed no blow either 
to right or left ; his powerful battle-axe rested in 
his hand ; but his eyes flashed fire, and seemed 
to be piercing the enemy’s ranks through and 
through, as if he would find out who it was that 
had conjured up this sudden warlike spirit. 
He succeeded. A small man clothed in strange- 


236 Sintram anD 1 bl 6 Companions 


looking armor, with large golden horns on his 
helmet, and a long visor advancing in front of 
it, was leaning on a two-edged curved spear, 
and seemed to be looking with derision at the 
flight of Biorn’s troops as they were pursued by 
their victorious foes. “That is he,” cried Sin- 
tram ; “he who will drive us from the field be- 
fore the eyes of Gabrielle ! ” And with the 
swiftness of an arrow he flew towards him with 
a wild shout. The combat was fierce, but not of 
long duration. To the wondrous dexterity of 
his adversary Sintram opposed his far superior 
size ; and he dealt so fearful a blow on the 
horned helmet that a stream of blood rushed 
forth, the small man fell as if stunned, and 
after some frightful convulsive movements, his 
limbs appeared to stiffen in death. 

His fall gave the signal for that of all Eric’s 
army. Even those who had not seen him fall 
suddenly lost their courage and eagerness for 
battle, and retreated with uncertain steps, or 
ran in wild affright on the spears of their ene- 
mies. At the same time Montfaucon was dis- 
persing Jarl Eric’s cavalry, after a desperate 


Smtram anO Ibis Companions 237 


conflict — had hurled their chief from the saddle, 
and taken him prisoner with his own hand. 
Biorn of the Fiery Byes stood victorious in the 
middle of the field of battle. The day was 
won. 




CHAPTER X. 

T N sight of both armies, with glowing cheeks 
and looks of modest humility, Sintram was 
conducted by the brave baron up the hill where 
Gabrielle stood in all the lustre of her beauty. 
Both warriors bent the knee before her, and 
Folko said, solemnly ; “ Eady, this valiant 
youth of a noble race has deserved the reward 
of this day’s victory. I pray you let him re- 
ceive it from your fair hand.” 

Gabrielle bowed courteously, took off her 
scarf of blue and gold, and fastened to it a 
bright sword, which a page brought to her on a 
cushion of cloth of silver. She then, with a 
smile, presented the noble gift to Sintram, who 
was bending forward to receive it when sud- 
denly Gabrielle drew back, and turning to 
Folko, said : “ Noble baron, should not he on 


Sintram an& Ibis Companions 239 


'whom I bestow a scarf and sword be first ad- 
mitted into the order of knighthood ? ” Light 
as a feather Folko sprang up, and bowing low 
before his lady, gave the youth the accolade with 
solemn earnestness. Then Gabrielle buckled on 
his sword, saying : “For the honor of God and 
the service of 'virtuous ladies, young knight. I 
saw you fight, I saw you conquer, and my ear- 
nest prayers followed you. Fight and conquer 
often again as you have done this day, that the 
beams of your renown may shine over my far- 
distant country. ” And at a sign from Folko she 
offered her tender lips for the new knight to 
kiss. Thrilling all over, and full of a holy joy, 
Sintram arose in deep silence, and hot tears 
streamed down his softened countenance, whilst 
the shout and the trumpets of the assembled 
troops greeted the youth with stunning applause. 
Old Rolf stood silently on one side, and as he 
looked in the mild beaming eyes of his foster- 
child he calmly and piously returned thanks : 

” The strife at length has found its end, 

Rich blessings no'w shall heaven send. 

The evil foe is slain ! ” 


240 Smtram anD Ibis Companions 


Biom and Jarl Eric had the while been talking 
together eagerly, but not unkindly. The con- 
queror now led his vanquished enemy up the hill, 
and presented him to the baron and Gabrielle, 
saying : ‘ ‘ Instead of two enemies, you now see 
two sworn allies ; and I request you, my beloved 
guests and kinsfolk, to receive him graciously, 
as one who henceforward belongs to us.” 

“He was so always,” added Eric, smiling. 
“I sought, indeed, revenge; but I have now 
had enough of defeats both by sea and land. 
Yet I thank Heaven that neither in the Grecian 
seas, to the sea-king, nor on Niflung’s Heath, 
to you, have I yielded in gloriously. ” 

The Lord of Montfaucon assented cordially, 
and heartily and solemnly was reconciliation 
made. Then Jarl Eric addressed Gabrielle with 
so noble a grace that with a smile of wonder she 
gazed on the gigantic gray hero, and gave him 
her beautiful hand to kiss. 

Meanwhile Sintram was speaking earnestly 
to his good Rolf ; and at length he was heard to 
say, “ But before all, be sure that you bury that 
wonderfully brave knight whom my battle-axe 


Stntram anD Ibis Companions 241 


smote. Choose out the greenest hill for his 
resting-place, and the loftiest oak to shade his 
grave. Also, I wish you to open his visor and 
to examine his countenance carefully, that so, 
though mortally smitten, we may not bury him 
alive ; and moreover, that you may be able to 
describe to me him to whom I owe the noblest 
prize of victory.” 

Rolf bowed readily, and went. 

“ Our young knight is speaking there of one 
amongst the slain, of whom I should like to 
hear more,” said Folko, turning to Jarl Brie. 
“Who, dear Jarl, was that wonderful chieftain 
who led on your troops so skilfully, and who at 
last fell under Sintram’s powerful battle-axe? ” 

“You ask me more than I know how to an- 
swer,” replied Jarl Brie. “About three nights 
ago this stranger made his appearance amongst 
us. I was sitting with my chieftains and war- 
riors around the hearth, forging our armor, and 
singing the while. Suddenly, above the din of 
our hammering and our singing, we heard so 
loud a noise that it silenced us in a moment, 
and we sat motionless, as if we had been turned 


242 Sintram anD Ibie Companions 


into stone. Before long the sound was repeated ; 
and at last we made out that it must be caused 
by some person blowing a huge horn outside 
the castle, seeking for admittance. I went 
down myself to the gate, and as I passed through 
the court-yard all my dogs were so terrified by 
the extraordinary noise as to be howling and 
crouching in their kennels instead of barking. 
I chid them, and called to them, but even the 
fiercest would not follow me. Then, thought I, 
I must show you the way to set to work ; so I 
grasped my sword firmly, I set my torch on the 
ground close beside me, and I let the gates fly 
open without further delay. For I well knew 
that it would be no easy matter for any one to 
come in against my will. A loud laugh greeted 
me, and I heard these words : ‘ Well, well, what 
mighty preparations are these before one small 
man can find the shelter he seeks ! ’ And in 
truth I did feel myself redden with shame when 
I saw the small stranger standing opposite to 
me quite alone. I called to him to come in at 
once, and offered my hand to him ; but he still 
showed some displeasure, and would not give 


Sintram auD Ibis Companions 243 


me his in return. As he went up, however, he 
became more friendly — he showed me the 
golden horn on which he sounded that blast, and 
which he carried screwed on his helmet, as 
well as another exactly like it. When he was 
sitting with us in the hall he behaved in a very 
strange manner — sometimes he was merry, 
sometimes cross ; by turns courteous and rude 
in his demeanor, without any one being able to 
see a motive for such constant changes. I longed 
to know where he came from, but how could 
I ask my guest such a question ? He told us as 
much as this — that he was starved with cold in 
our country, and that his own was much 
warmer. Also he appeared well acquainted 
with the city of Constantinople, and related 
fearful stories of how brothers, uncles, and 
nephews, nay, even fathers and sons, thrust 
each other from the throne, blinded, cut out 
tongues, and murdered. At length he said his 
own name — it sounded harmonious like a Greek 
name, but none of us could remember it. Before 
long he displayed his skill as an armorer. He 
understood marvellously well how to handle the 


244 Sintram anD Ibis Compantons 


red-hot iron, and how to form it into more mur- 
derous weapons than any I had ever before 
seen. I would not suffer him to go on making 
them, for I was resolved to meet you in the 
field with equal arms, and such as we are all 
used to in our northern countries. Then he 
laughed, and said he thought it would be quite 
possible to be victorious without them, by skil- 
ful movements and the like ; if only I would 
entrust the command of my infantry to him I 
was sure of victory. Then I thought that he 
who makes arms well must also wield them 
well — yet I required some proof of his powers. 
Ye lords, he came off victorious in trials of 
strength such as you can hardly imagine ; and, 
although the fame of young Sintram, as a bold 
and brave warrior, is spread far and wide, yet I 
can scarce believe that he could slay such a one 
as my Greek ally.” 

He would have continued speaking, but 
the good Rolf came hastily back with a few 
followers, the whole party so ghastly pale 
that all eyes were involuntarily fixed on them, 
and looked anxiously to hear what tidings 


Sintram anO Ibis Companions 245 


they brought. Rolf stood still, silent and 
trembling. 

“Take courage, my old friend!” cried Sin- 
tram. “Whatever thou mayest have to tell is 
truth and light from thy faithful mouth.” 

“My dear master,” began the old man, “be 
not angry, but as to burying that strange war- 
rior whom you slew, it is a thing impossible. 
Would that we had never opened that wide 
hideous visor I For so horrible a countenance 
grinned at us from underneath it, so distorted 
by death, and with so hellish an expression, 
that we hardly kept our senses. We could not 
by any possibility have touched him. I would 
rather be sent to kill wolves and bears in the 
desert, and look on whilst fierce birds of prey 
feast on their carcasses.” 

All present shuddered, and were silent for a 
time, till Sintram nerved himself to say : 
“ Dear, good old man, why use such wild words 
as I never till now heard thee utter ? But tell 
me, Jarl Kric, did your ally appear altogether 
so awful while he was yet alive? ” 

“Not as far as I know,” answered Jarl Eric, 


246 Sintram ant) 1 bt 6 Companions 




looking inquiringly at his companions, who 
were standing around. They said the same 
thing ; but on further questioning it appeared 
that neither the chieftain, nor the knights, nor 
the soldiers could say exactly what the stran- 
ger was like. 

“We must then find it out for ourselves, and 
bury the corpse,” said Sintram ; and he signed 
to the assembled party to follow him. All did 
so except the Lord of Montfaucon, whom the 
whispered entreaty of Gabrielle kept at her 
side. He lost nothing thereby. For though 
Niflung’s Heath was searched from one end to 
the other many times, yet the body of the un- 
known warrior was no longer to be found. 


p 





CHAPTER XI. 

'^HE joyful calm which came over Sintram 
^ on this day appeared to be more than a pass- 
ing gleam. If too, at times, a thought of the 
knight Paris and Helen would inflame his heart 
with bolder and wilder wishes, it needed but one 
look at his scarf and sword, and the stream of 
his inner life glided again clear as a mirror, and 
serene within. “What can any man wish for 
more than has been already bestowed on me ? ” 
would he say to himself at such times, in still 
delight. And thus it went on for a long while. 

The beautiful northern autumn had already 
begun to redden the leaves of the oaks and elms 
around the castle, when one day it chanced that 
Sintram was sitting in company with Folko 
and Gabrielle in almost the very same spot in 
the garden where he had before met that mys- 
terious being whom, without knowing why, he 
had named the little Master. But on this day 


248 Sintram aiiD Ibis Companions 


how different did every thing appear! The 
sun was sinking slowly over the sea, the mist 
of an autumnal evening was rising from the 
fields and meadows around towards the hill on 
which stood the huge castle. Gabrielle, placing 
her lute in Sintram’s hands, said to him : 
“Dear friend, so mild and gentle as you now 
are, I may well dare to entrust to you my ten- 
der little darling. Let me again hear you sing 
that lay of the land of flowers ; for I am sure 
that it will now sound much sweeter than when 
you accompanied it with the vibrations of your 
fearful harp.” 

The young knight bowed as he prepared to 
obey the lady’s commands. With a grace and 
softness hitherto unwonted, the tones resounded 
from his lips, and the wild song appeared to 
transform itself and to bloom into a garden of 
the blessed. Tears stood in Gabrielle’s eyes, 
and Sintram, as he gazed on the pearly bright- 
ness, poured forth tones of yet richer sweetness. 
When the last notes were sounded, Gabrielle’s 
angelic voice was heard to echo them, and as 
she repeated — 


Sintram anD Ibis Companions 249 


“ Sing heigh, sing ho, for that land of flowers,” 
Sintram put down the lute, and sighed with a 
thankful glance towards the stars, now rising in 
the heavens. Then Gabrielle, turning towards 
her lord, murmured these words : “ Oh, how 
long have we been far away from our own shin- 
ing castles and bright gardens ! Oh, for that 
land of the sweetest flowers ! ” 

Sintram could scarce believe that he heard 
aright so suddenly did he feel himself as if shut 
out from paradise. But his last hope vanished 
before the courteous assurances of Folko, that 
he would endeavor to fulfil his lady’s wishes the 
very next week, and that their ship was lying 
off the shore ready to put to sea. She thanked 
him with a kiss imprinted softly on his fore- 
head, and, leaning on his arm, she bent her 
steps, singing and smiling, towards the castle. 

Sintram troubled in mind, as though turned 
into stone, remained behind forgotten. At 
length, when night was now in the sky, he 
started up wildly, ran up and down the garden, 
as if all his former madness had again taken 
possession of him, and then rushed out and 


250 Sintcam 1 bi 9 Companions 


wandered upon the wild moon-lit hills. There 
he dashed his sword against the trees and 
bushes, so that on all sides was heard a sound 
of crashing and falling. The birds of night 
flew about him screeching in wild alarm, and 
the deer, startled by the noise, sprang away, 
and took refuge in the thickest coverts. 

On a sudden old Rolf appeared, returning 
home from a visit to the chaplain of Drontheim, 
to whom he had been relating, with tears of 
joy, how Sintram was softened by the pres- 
ence of the angel Gabrielle, yea, almost healed, 
and how he dared to hope that the evil dreams 
had yielded. And now the sword, as it whizzed 
round the furious youth, had wellnigh wounded 
the good old man. He stopped short, and clasp- 
ing his hands, he said, with a deep sigh : 
“Alas, Sintram! my foster-child, darling of 
my heart, what has come over thee, thus fear- 
fully stirring thee to rage?” 

The youth stood awhile, as if spellbound ; 
he looked in his old friend’s face with a fixed 
and melancholy gaze, and his eyes became dim, 
like expiring watchfires seen through a thick 


Sintram auD Ibis dompanions 251 


cloud of mist. At length he sighed forth these 
words, almost inaudibly : “ Good Rolf, good 
Rolf, depart from me ! thy garden of heaven is 
no home for me, and if sometimes a light 
breeze blow open its golden gates, so that I can 
look in and see the flowery meadowland where 
the dear angels dwell, then straightway between 
them and me come the cold north wind and the 
icy storm, and the sounding doors fly together, 
and I remain without, lonely, in endless winter.” 

‘ ‘ Beloved young knight, oh, listen to me — 
listen to the good angel within you ! Do you 
not bear in your hand that very sword with 
which the pure lady girded you ? does not her 
scarf wave over your raging breast ? Do you 
not recollect how you used to say that no man 
could wish for more than had fallen to you ? ” 

“Yes, Rolf, I have said that,” replied Sin- 
tram, sinking on the mossy turf, bitterly weep- 
ing. Tears also ran over the old man’s white 
beard. Before long the youth stood again erect, 
his tears ceased to flow, his looks were fearful, 
cold, and grim; and he said: “You see, Rolf, 
I have passed blessed, peaceful days, and 1 


252 Sfntram anO Ibis Companions 

thought that the powers of evil would never 
again have dominion over me. So, perchance, 
it might have been, as day would ever be did 
the sun ever stand in the sky. But ask the 
poor benighted Earth, wherefore she looks so 
dark ! Bid her again smile as she was wont to 
do ! Old man, she cannot smile ; and now that 
the gentle, compassionate moon has disap- 
peared behind the clouds with her holy funeral 
veil, she cannot even weep. And in this hour 
of darkness, all that is wild and mad wakes up. 
So stop me not, I tell thee, stop me not ! Hur- 
rah, behind, behind the pale moon!” His 
voice changed to a hoarse murmur at these last 
words, storm-like. He tore away from the 
trembling old man, and rushed through the 
forest. Rolf knelt down and prayed, and wept 
silently. 




CHAPTER XII. 

HERE the sea-beach was wildest and the 



“ ^ cliffs most steep and rugged, and close 
by the remains of three shattered oaks, haply 
marking where in heathen time human victims 
had been sacrificed, now stood Sintram lean- 
ing, as if exhausted, on his drawn sword, and 
gazing intently on the dancing waves. The 
moon had again shone forth ; and as her pale 
beams fell on his motionless figure through 
the quivering branches of the trees, he might 
have been taken for some fearful idol-image. 
Suddenly some one on the left half raised 
himself out of the high withered grass, ut- 
tered a faint groan, and again lay down. 
Then between the two companions began this 
strange talk : 

“Thou that movest thyself so strangely in 


254 Sintram ant) Ibis Companions 


the grass, dost thou belong to the living or to 
the dead? ” 

“As one may take it, I am dead to heaven 
and joy ; I live for hell and anguish.” 

“ Methinks that I have heard thee before.” 

“Oh, yes.” 

“ Art thou a troubled spirit ? and was thy life- 
blood poured out here of old in sacrifice to 
idols? ” 

“lam a troubled spirit; but no man ever 
has, or ever can, shed my blood. I have been 
cast down — oh, into a frightful abyss ! ” 

“ And didst thou there break thy neck ? ” 

“ I live — and shall live longer than thou.” 

“Almost thou seemest to me the crazy pil- 
grim with the dead men’s bones.” 

“I am not he, though often we are compan- 
ions — ay, walk together right near and friendly. 
But to you be it said, he thinks me mad. If 
sometimes I urge him, and say to him, ‘ Take ! ’ 
then he hesitates and points upwards towards 
the stars. And again, if I say, ‘ Take not ! ’ 
then, to a certainty, he seizes on it in some 
awkward manner, and so he spoils my best joys 


Sintram anO Ibis Companions 255 


and pleasures. But in spite of this we remain 
in some measure brothers in arms and indeed 
all but kinsmen.” 

“ Give me hold of thy hand, and let me help 
thee to get up.” 

“ Ho, ho ! my active young sir, that might 
bring you no good. Yet in fact you have al- 
ready helped to raise me. Give heed awhile.” 

Wilder and ever wilder were the stragglings 
on the ground ; thick clouds hurried over the 
moon and the stars on a long unknown wild 
journey ; and Sintram’s thoughts grew no less 
wild and stormy, while far and near an awful 
howling could be heard amidst the trees and the 
grass. At length the mysterious being arose 
from the ground. As if with a fearful curiosity, 
the moon, through a rent in the clouds, cast a 
beam upon Sintram’s companion and made 
clear to the shuddering youth that the little 
Master stood by him. 

“ Avaunt ! ” cried he ; “I will listen no more 
to thy evil stories about the knight Paris ; they 
would end by driving me quite mad.” 

“ My stories about Paris are not needed for 


256 Sintram Ibis Companions 


that ! ’ ’ grinned the little Master. “ It is enough 
that the Helen of thy heart should be journey- 
ing towards Montfaucon. Believe me, madness 
has thee already, head and heart. Or wouldst 
thou that she should remain ? For that, how- 
ever, thou must be more courteous to me than 
thou art now.” 

Therewith he raised his voice towards the 
sea, as if fiercely rebuking it, so that Sintram 
could not but shudder and tremble before the 
dwarf. But he checked himself, and grasping 
his sword-hilt with both hands he said con- 
temptuously : “Thou and Gabrielle! what ac- 
quaintance hast thou with Gabrielle? ” 

“Not much,” was the reply. And the little 
Master might be seen to quake with fear and 
rage as he continued : “I cannot well bear the 
name of thy Helen ; do not din it in my ears 
ten times in a breath. But if the tempest 
should increase ? If the waves should swell 
and roll on till they form a foaming ring 
round the whole coast of Norway ? The 
voyage to Montfaucon must in that case be 
altogether given up, and thy Helen would 


Sintram anD Ibis Companions 257 


remain here at least through the long, long, 
dark winter.” 

“ If ! if ! ” replied Sintram with scorn. “ Is 
the sea thy bond-slave? Are the storms thy 
fellow-workmen ? ” 

“ They are rebels, accursed rebels,” muttered 
the little Master in his red beard. “ Thou must 
lend me thy aid, sir knight, if I am to subdue 
them ; but thou hast not the heart for it.” 

“ Boaster, evil boaster ! ” answered the youth, 
“ what dost thou ask of me ! ” 

“Not much, sir knight; nothing at all for 
one who has strength and ardor of soul. Thou 
needest only look at the sea steadily and keenly 
for one-half hour, without ever ceasing to wash 
with all thy might that it should foam and rage 
and swell, and never again rest till winter has 
laid its icy hold upon your mountains. Then 
winter is enough to hinder Duke Menelaus 
from his voyage to Montfaucon. And now give 
me a lock of your black hair, which is blowing 
so wildly about your head like ravens’ or vul- 
tures’ wings.” 

The youth drew his sharp dagger, madly cut 


25S Smtram anD Ibie Companions 


off a lock of his hair, threw it to the strange 
being, and now gazed as he desired, powerfully 
wishing, on the waves of the sea. And softly, 
quite softly, did the waters stir themselves, as 
one whispers in troubled dreams who would 
gladly rest and cannot. Sintram was on the 
point of giving up, when in the moonbeams a 
ship appeared with white-swelling sails towards 
the south. Anguish came over him that Gabri- 
elle would soon thus quickly sail away ; he 
wished again with all his power, and fixed his 
eyes intently on the watery abyss. “ Sintram ! ” 
a voice might have said to him — “ ah, Sintram, 
art thou indeed the same who so lately wert 
gazing on the moistened heaven of the eyes of 
Gabrielle ? ” 

And now the waves heaved more mightily, 
and the howling tempest swept over the ocean : 
the breakers, white with foam, became visible 
in the moonlight. Then the little Master 
threw the lock of Sintram’ s hair up towards 
the clouds, and, as it was blown to and fro by 
the blast of wind, the storm burst in all its fury, 
so that sea and sky were covered with one thick 


Sintram anD 1 bi 6 Companions 259 


cloud, and far off might be heard the cries of 
distress from many a sinking vessel. 

But the crazy pilgrim with the dead men’s 
bones rose up in the midst of the waves, close 
to the shore, gigantic, tall, fearfully rocking; 
the boat in which he stood was hidden from 
sight, so mightily raged the waves round 
about it. 

“Thou must save him, little Master — thou 
must certainly save him,” cried Sintram’s voice, 
angrily entreating, through the roaring of the 
winds and waves. But the dwarf replied, with 
a laugh : “Be quite at rest for him ; he will be 
able to save himself. The waves can do him 
no harm. Seest thou? They are only begging 
of him, and therefore they jump up so boldly 
around him ; and he gives them bountiful alms 
— very bountiful, that I can assure thee.” 

In fact, as it seemed, the pilgrim threw some 
bones into the sea, and passed scathless on his 
way. Sintram felt his blood run cold with 
horror, and he rushed wildly towards the castle. 
His companion had either fled or vanished 
away. 



CHAPTER XIII. 

T N the castle, Biorn and Gabrielle and Folko 
^ of Montfancon were sitting round the great 
stone table, from which, since the arrival of his 
noble guests, those suits of armor had been re- 
moved, formerly the established companions of 
the lord of the castle, and placed altogether in 
a heap in the adjoining room. At this time, 
while the storm was beating so furiously against 
doors and windows, it seemed as if the ancient 
armor were also stirring in the next room, and 
Gabrielle several times half rose from her seat 
in great alarm, fixing her eyes on the small 
iron door, as though she expected to see an 
armed spectre issue therefrom, bending with 
his mighty helmet through the low-vaulted 
doorway. 

The Knight Biom smiled grimly, and said, as 


Sintram and Companions 261 


if he had guessed her thoughts : “ Oh, he will 
never again come out thence ; I have put an end 
to that forever.” 

His guests stared at him doubtingly ; and with 
a strange air of unconcern, as though the storm 
had awakened all the fierceness of his soul, he 
began the following history : 

“I was once a happy man myself; I could 
smile as you do, and I could rejoice in the 
morning as you do ; that was before the hypo- 
critical chaplain had so bewildered the wise 
mind of my lovely wife with his canting talk 
that she went into a cloister, and left me alone 
with our wild boy. That was not fair usage 
from the fair Verena. Well, so it was that in 
the first days of her dawning beauty, before I 
knew her, many knights sought her hand, 
amongst whom was Sir Weigand the Slender ; 
and towards him the gentle maiden showed her- 
self the most favorably inclined. Her parents 
were well aware that Weigand’s rank and 
station were little below their own, and that his 
early fame as a warrior without reproach stood 
high, so that before long Verena and he were 


262 Sintram anD Ibis Companions 


accounted as affianced. It happened one day 
that they were walking together in the orchard, 
when a shepherd was driving his flock up the 
mountain beyond. The maiden saw a little 
snow-white lamb frolicking gayly, and longed 
for it. Weigand vaults over the railings, over- 
takes the shepherd, and offers him two gold 
bracelets for the lamb. But the shepherd will 
not part with it, and scarcely listens to the 
knight, going quietly the while up the moun- 
tain-side, with Weigand close upon him. At 
last Weigand loses patience. He threatens, and 
the shepherd, sturdy and proud, like all of his 
race in our northern land, threatens in return. 
Suddenly Weigand’s sword resounds upon his 
head — the stroke should have fallen flat, but 
who can control a fiery horse or a drawn sword? 
The bleeding shepherd, with a cloven skull, 
falls down the precipice; his frightened flock 
bleats on the mountain. Only the little lamb 
runs in its terror to the orchard, pushes itself 
through the garden rails, and lies at Verena’s 
feet, as if asking for help, all red with his mas- 
ter’s blood. She took it up in her arms, and 


Sintram anD fbis Companione 263 


from that moment never suffered Weigand the 
Slender to appear again before her face. She 
continued to cherish the little lamb, and seemed 
to take pleasure in nothing else in the world, 
and became pale and turned towards heaven, as 
the lilies are. She would soon have taken the 
veil, but just then I came to aid her father in a 
bloody war, and rescued him from his enemies. 
The old man represented this to her, and softly 
smiling, she gave me her lovely hand. His 
grief would not suffer the unhappy Weigand to 
remain in his own country. It drove him forth 
as a pilgrim to Asia, whence our forefathers 
came, and there he did wonderful deeds, both 
of valor and self-abasement. Truly my heart 
was strangely weak when I heard him spoken 
of at that time. After some years he returned 
and wished to build a church or monastery on 
that mountain towards the west, whence the 
walls of my castle are distinctly seen. It was 
said that he wished to become a priest there, 
but it fell out otherwise. For some pirates had 
sailed from the southern seas, and, hearing of 
the building of this monastery, their chief 


264 Sintram anD IF^is Companions 


thought to find much gold belonging to the lord 
of the castle and to the master builders, or else, 
if he surprised and carried them off, to extort 
from them a mighty ransom. He did not yet 
know northern courage and northern weapons, 
but he soon gained that knowledge. Having 
landed in the creek under the black rocks, he 
made his way through a by-path up to the 
building, surrounded it, and thought in himself 
that the affair was now ended. Ha ! then out 
rushed Weigand and his builders, and fell upon 
them with swords and hatchets and hammers. 
The heathens fled away to their ships, with 
Weigand behind to take vengeance on them. 
In passing by our castle he caught sight of 
Verena on the terrace, and, for the first time 
during so many years, she bestowed a courteous 
and kind salutation on the glowing victor. 
At that moment a dagger, hurled by one of the 
pirates in the midst of his hasty flight, struck 
Weigand’s uncovered head, and he fell to the 
ground, bleeding and insensible. We com- 
pleted the rout of the heathens ; then I had 
the wounded knight brought into the castle. 


Sintram anC) Ibis Companions 265 


and my pale Verena glowed as lilies in the light 
of the morning sun, and Weigand opened his 
eyes with a smile when he was brought near 
her. He refused to be taken into any room 
but the small one close to this where the armor 
is now placed ; for he said that he felt as if it 
were a cell like that which he hoped soon to in- 
habit in his quiet cloister. All was done after 
his wish : my sweet Verena nursed him, and he 
appeared at first to be on the straightest road 
to recovery ; but his head continued weak and 
liable to be confused by the slightest emo- 
tion ; his walk was rather a falling than a walk- 
ing, and his cheeks were colorless. We could 
not let him go. When we were sitting here to- 
gether in the evening he used always to come 
tottering into the hall through the low door- 
way, and my heart was sad and wrathful, too, 
when the soft eyes of Verena beamed so sweetly 
on him, and a glow like that of the evening 
sky hovered over her lily cheeks. But I bore 
it. and I could have borne it to the end of our 
lives — when, alas ! Verena went into a cloister ! ” 
His head fell so heavily on his folded hands 


266 Sintram anD Ibie Companions 


that the stone table seemed to groan beneath 
it, and he remained a long while motionless as 
a corpse. When he again raised himself up, 
his eyes glared fearfully as he looked around 
the hall, and he said to Folko ; “Your beloved 
Hamburghers, Gotthard Fentz, and Rudlieb his 
son, they have much to answer for ! Who bid 
them come and be shipwrecked so close to my 
castle? ” 

Folko cast a piercing look on him, and a 
fearful inquiry was on the point of escaping his 
lips, but another look at the trembling Gabrielle 
made him silent, at least for the present mo- 
ment, and the knight Biorn continued his nar- 
rative. 

“ Verena was with her nuns ; I was left alone, 
and my despair had driven me throughout the 
day through forest and brook and mountain. 
In the twilight I returned to my deserted castle, 
and scarcely was I in the hall when the little 
door creaked, and Weigand, who had slept 
through all, crept towards me and asked, 
‘Where can Verena be ? ’ Then I became as 
mad, and howled to him, ‘She is gone mad. 


Sintram anC» Ibis Companiong 267 


and so am I, and you also, and now we are all 
mad ! ’ Merciful Heaven ! the wound on his 
head burst open, and a dark stream flowed over 
his face — ah ! how different from the redness 
when Verena met him at the castle gate, — and 
he rushed forth, raving mad, into the wilder- 
ness without, and ever since has wandered all 
around as a crazy pilgrim.” 

He was silent, and so were Folko and Ga- 
brielle, all three pale and cold like images of 
the dead. At length the fearful narrator added 
in a low voice, and as if he were quite ex- 
hausted, “ He has visited me since that time, 
but he will never again come through the little 
door. Have I not established peace and order 
in my castle? ” 




CHAPTER XIV. 


INTRAM had not returned home when 



those of the castle betook themselves to 
rest in deep bewilderment. No one thought of 
him, for every heart was filled with strange fore- 
bodings, and with uncertain cares. Even the 
heroic breast of the Knight of Montfaucon 
heaved in doubt. 

Old Rolf still remained without, weeping in 
the forest, heedless of the storm which beat on 
his unprotected head, while he waited for his 
young master. But he had gone a very differ- 
ent way, and when the morning dawned he en- 
tered the castle from the opposite side. 

Gabrielle’s slumbers had been sweet during 
the whole night. It had seemed to her that 
angels with golden wings had blown away the 
wild histories of the evening before, and had 
wafted to her the bright flowers, the sparkling 
sea, and the green hills of her own home. She 


Slntram auD Ibis Companions 269 


smiled, and drew her breath calmly and softly 
whilst the magical tempest raged and howled 
through the forests, and continued to battle 
with the troubled sea. But in truth, when she 
awoke in the morning, and heard still the rat- 
tling of the windows, and saw the clouds as if 
dissolved in mist and steam, still hiding the 
face of the heavens, she could have wept for 
anxiety and sadness, especially when she heard 
from her maidens that Folko had already left 
their apartment clad in full armor, as if pre- 
pared for a combat. At the same time she 
heard the sound of the heavy tread of armed 
men in the echoing halls, and, on inquiring, 
found that the Knight of Montfaucon had 
assembled all his retainers to be in readiness to 
protect their lady. 

Wrapped in a cloak of ermine, she stood 
trembling like a tender flower j ust sprung up 
out of the snow, tottering beneath a winter’s 
storm. Then Sir Folko entered the room in all 
his shining armor, and peacefully carrying his 
golden helmet with the long shadowy plumes 
in his hand. He saluted Gabrielle with cheer- 


270 Smtram mt) 1bi6 Companions 


ful serenity, and at a sign from him, her 
attendants retired, while the men-at-arms with- 
out were heard quietly dispersing. 

“Lady,” said he as he took his seat beside 
her, on a couch to which he led her, already re- 
assured by his presence ; “ Lady, will you for- 
give your knight for having left you to endure 
some moments of anxiety? but honor and 
stern justice called him. Now all is set in 
order, quietly and peacefully ; dismiss your 
fears and every thought that has troubled you, 
as things which are no more.” 

“ But you and Biorn ? ” asked Gabrielle. 

“ On the word of a knight,” replied he, “all 
is well there.” And thereupon he began to 
talk over indifferent subjects with his usual 
ease and wit ; but Gabrielle, bending towards 
him, said with deep emotion ; 

“ O Folko, my knight, the flower of my life, 
my protector and my dearest hope on earth, 
tell me all if thou mayest. But if a promise 
binds thee, it is different. Thou knowest that 
I am of the race of Portamour, and I would 
ask nothing from my knight which could 


Sintcam anD Ibis Companions 271 


cast even a breath of suspicion on his spotless 
shield.” 

Folko thought gravely for one instant ; then 
looking at her with a bright smile, he said : 
“ It is not that, Gabrielle ; but canst thou bear 
what I have to disclose ? Wilt thou not sink 
down under it, as a slender fir gives way under 
a mass of snow ? ” 

She raised herself somewhat proudly and 
said: “I have already reminded thee of the 
name of my father’s house, ket me now add 
that I am the wedded wife of the Baron of 
Montfaucon.” 

“ Then so let it be,” replied Folko solemnly ; 
“and if that must come forth openly which 
should ever have remained hidden in the dark- 
ness which belongs to such deeds of wicked- 
ness, at least let it come forth less fearfully with 
a sudden flash. Know, then, Gabrielle, that the 
wicked knight who would have slain my friends 
Gotthard and Rudlieb is none other than our 
kinsman and host, Biom of the Fiery Byes.” 

Gabrielle shuddered and covered her eyes 
with her fair hands ; but at the end of a mo- 


272 Sintram anD Ibis Companions 


ment she looked up with a bewildered air and 
said: “I have heard wrong surely, although it 
it is true that yesterday evening such a thought 
struck me. For did not you say awhile ago 
that all was settled and at peace between you 
and Biom ? Between the brave baron and such 
a man after such a crime ? ” 

“You heard aright,” answered Folko, look- 
ing with fond delight on the delicate yet 
high-minded lady. “This morning with the 
earliest dawn I went to him and challenged 
him to a mortal combat in the neighboring val- 
ley, if he were the man whose castle had well- 
nigh become an altar of sacrifice to Gotthard 
and Rudlieb. He was already completely armed, 
and merely saying, ‘I am he,’ he followed me 
to the forest. But when we stood alone at the 
place of combat, he flung away his shield down 
a giddy precipice, then his sword was hurled 
after it, and next with gigantic strength he tore 
off his coat of mail and said, ‘ Now fall on, thou 
minister of vengeance, for I am a heavy sinner, 
and I dare not fight with thee. ’ How could I 
then attack him ? A strange truce was agreed 


Sintrani an& Ibis Companions 273 

on between us. He is half as my vassal, and 
yet I solemnly forgave him in my own name 
and in that of my friends. He was contrite, 
and yet no tear was in his eye, no gentle word 
on his lips. He is only kept under by the power 
with which I am endued by having right on my 
side, and it is on that tenure that Biorn is my 
vassal. I know not, lady, whether you can bear 
to see us together on these terms ; if not, I will 
ask for hospitality in some other castle ; there 
are none in Norway which would not receive us 
joyfully and honorably, and this wild autumnal 
storm may put off our voyage for many a day. 
Only this, I think that if we depart directly 
and in such a manner, the heart of this savage 
man will break.” 

“Where my noble lord remains, there I also 
remain joyfully under his protection,” replied 
Gabrielle; and again her heart glowed with 
rapture at the greatness of her knight. 




CHAPTER XV. 


HE noble lady had just unbuckled her 



^ knight’s armor with her own fair hands 
— on the field of battle, alone were pages or 
esquires bidden handle Montfaucon’s armor — 
and now she was throwing over his shoulders 
his mantle of blue velvet embroidered with 
gold, when the door opened gently and Sintram 
entered the room, humbly greeting them. Ga- 
brielle received him kindly, as she was wont, 
but suddenly turning pale she looked away and 


said ; 


“O Sintram, what has happened to you? 
And how can one single night have so fearfully 
altered you ? ” 

Sintram stood still, thunder-struck, and feel- 
ing as if he himself did not know what had be- 
fallen him. Then Folko took him by the hand. 


Sintram ant) Ibie Companions 275 


led him towards a bright polished shield, and 
said very earnestly: “Look here at yourself, 
young knight ! ” 

At the first glance Sintram drew back horri- 
fied. He fancied that he saw the little Master 
before him with that single upright feather stick- 
ing out of his cap ; but he at length perceived 
that the mirror was only showing him his own 
image and none other, and that his own wild 
dagger had given him this strange and spectre- 
like aspect, as he could not deny to himself. 

“Who has done that to you?” asked Folko, 
yet more grave and solemn. “ And what terror 
makes your disordered hair stand on end? ” 

Sintram knew not what to answer. He felt 
as if a judgment were coming on him, and a 
shameful degrading from his knightly rank. 
Suddenly Folko drew him away from the 
shield, and taking him towards the rattling 
window he asked, “Whence comes this tem- 
pest? ” 

Still Sintram kept silence. His limbs began 
to tremble under him ; and Gabrielle, pale and 
terrified, whispered: “O Folko, my knight. 


276 Slntram anO Ibis Companions 


what has happened ? Oh, tell me ; are we come 
into an enchanted castle ? ” 

“The land of our northern ancestors,” re- 
plied Folko, with solemnity, “is full of mys- 
terious knowledge. But we may not, for all 
that, call its people enchanters ; still this youth 
has cause to watch himself narrowly ; he whom 
the evil one has touched by so much as one 
hair of his head ” 

Sintram heard no more; with a deep groan 
he staggered out of the room. As he left it he 
met old Rolf, still almost benumbed by the 
cold and storms of the night. Now, in his joy 
at again seeing his young master, he did not re- 
mark his altered appearance, but as he accom- 
panied him to his sleeping-room he said : 
“Witches and spirits of the tempest must have 
taken up their abode on the seashore. I am 
certain that such wild storms never rise with- 
out some devilish arts.” 

Sintram fell into a fainting-fit, from which 
Rolf could with difficulty recover himself suffi- 
ciently to appear in the great hall at the mid- 
day hour. But before he went down he caused 


Sintram anD Ibis Companions 277 


a shield to be brought, saw himself therein, and 
cut close round in grief and horror the rest of 
his long black hair, so that he made himself 
look almost like a monk ; and thus he joined 
the others already assembled round the table. 
They all looked at him with surprise ; but old 
Biom rose up and said fiercely : “ Are you going 
to betake yourself to a cloister as well as the 
fair lady your mother ? ” 

A commanding look from the Baron of Mont- 
faucon checked any farther outbreak, and, as 
if in apology, Biom added with a forced smile : 
“I was only thinking if any accident had be- 
fallen him, like Absalom’s, and if he had been 
obliged to save himself from being strangled by 
parting with all his hair.” 

“You should not jest with holy things,” an- 
swered the baron severely, and all were silent. 
No sooner was the repast ended, than Folko 
and Gabrielle, with a grave and courteous sal- 
utation, retired to their apartments. 



CHAPTER XVI. 


IFE in the castle took from this time quite 



^ another form. Those two bright beings, 
Folko and Gabrielle, spent most part of the 
day in their apartments, and when they showed 
themselves, it was with quiet dignity and grave 
silence, while Biorn and Sintram stood before 
them in humble fear. Nevertheless, Biom 
could not bear the thought of his guests seek- 
ing shelter in any other knight’s abode. When 
Folko once spoke of it, something like a tear 
stood in the wild man’s eye. His head sank, 
and he said softly : “As you please ; but I feel 
that if you go, I shall run among the rocks for 
days.’’ 

And thus they all remained together, for the 
storm continued to rage with such increasing 
fury over the sea, that no sea voyage could be 


Stntram anO Ibis Companions 279 


thought of, and the oldest man in Norway 
could not call to mind such an autumn. The 
priests examined all the Runic books, the bards 
looked through their lays and tales, and yet 
they could find no record of the like. Biorn 
and Sintram braved the tempest, but during the 
few hours in which Folko and Gabrielle showed 
themselves, the father and son were always in 
the castle, as if respectfully waiting upon them ; 
the rest of the day — nay, often through whole 
nights, they rushed through the forests and 
over the rocks in pursuit of bears. Folko the 
while called up all the brightness of his fancy, 
all his courtly grace, in order to make Gabrielle 
forget that she was living in this wild castle, 
and that the long, hard, northern winter was 
setting in, which ifevould ice them in for many a 
month. Sometimes he would relate bright 
tales ; then he wonld play the liveliest airs to 
induce Gabrielle to lead a dance with her at- 
tendants ; then again handing his lute to one 
of the women, he would himself take a part in 
the dance, well knowing to express thereby 
after some new fashion his devotion to his lady. 


280 Sfntram auD IfDis Companione 


Another time he would have the spacious halls 
of the castle prepared for his armed retainers 
to go through their warlike exercises, and Ga- 
brielle always adjudged the reward to the con- 
queror. Folko often joined the circle of com- 
batants ; yet so that he only met their attacks, 
defending himself, but depriving no one of the 
prize. The Norwegians, who stood around as 
spectators, used to compare him to the demi- 
god Baldur, one of the heroes of their old tra- 
ditions, who was wont to let the darts of his 
companions be all hurled against him, con- 
scious that he was invulnerable, and of his own 
indwelling strength. 

At the close of one of these martial exercises, 
old Rolf advanced towards Folko, and beckon- 
ing him with an humble look, said softly : 
“They call you the beautiful, mighty Baldur — • 
and they are right. But even the beautiful, 
mighty Baldur did not escape death. Take 
heed to yourself.” Folko looked at him won- 
dering. “Not that I know of any treachery,” 
continued the old man, “or that I can even 
foresee the likelihood of any. God keep a 


Sintram anD Ibis Companions 281 


Norwegian from such a fear. But when you 
stand before me in all the brightness of your 
glory, the fleetingness of every thing earthly 
weighs down my mind, and I cannot refrain 
from saying, ‘ Take heed, noble baron ! oh, 
take heed ! Even the most beautiful glory 
comes to an end.’ ” 

“Those are wise and pious thoughts,” res 
plied Folko, calmly, “ and I will treasure them 
in a pure heart.” 

The good Rolf was often with Folko and Gas 
brielle, and made a connecting link between 
the two widely differing parties in the castle. 
For how could he have ever forsaken his own 
Sintram ? Only in the wild hunting expedi- 
tions, through the howling storms and tem- 
pests, he no longer was able to follow his young 
lord. 

At length the icy reign of winter began in 
all its glory. On this account a return to Nor- 
mandy was impossible, and therefore the mag- 
ical storm was lulled. The hills and valleys 
shone brilliantly in their white attire of snow, 
and Folko used sometimes, with skates on his 


282 Smtrarn anD 1 bi 6 Companions 

feet, to draw his lady in a light sledge over the 
glittering frozen lakes and streams. On the 
other hand, the bear-hunts of the lord of the 
castle and his son took a still more desperate 
and to them joyous course. 

About this time — when Christmas was draw- 
ing near, and Sintram was seeking to over- 
power his dread of the awful dreams by the 
most daring expeditions — about this time Fol- 
ko and Gabrielle stood together on one of the 
terraces of the castle. The evening was mild ; 
the snow-clad fields were glowing in the red 
light of the setting sun ; from below there 
were heard men’s voices singing songs of an- 
cient heroic times, while they worked in the 
armorer’s forge. At last the songs died away, 
the beating of hammers ceased, and, without 
the speakers being seen, or there being any 
possibility of distinguishing them by their 
voices, the following discourse arose : 

“ Who is the bravest amongst all those 
whose race derives its origin from our re- 
nowned land?” 

“It is Folko of Montfaucon.” 


Sintram an& Ibis Companions 283 


“Rightly said; but tell me, is there any 
thing from which even this bold baron draws 
back ? ” 

“ In truth there is one thing — and we who 
have never left Norway face it quite willingly 
and joyfully.” 

“ And that is ? ” 

“ A bear-hunt in winter, over trackless plains 
of snow, down frightful ice-covered preci- 
pices.” 

‘ ‘ Truly thou answerest aright, my comrade. 
He who knows not how to fasten our skates on 
his feet, how to turn in them to the right or left 
at a moment’s warning, he may be a valiant 
knight in other respects, but he had better 
keep away from our hunting parties, and re- 
main with his timid wife in her apartments.” 
At which the speakers were heard to laugh, 
well pleased, and then to betake themselves 
again to their armorer’s work. 

Folko stood long buried in thought. A glow 
beyond that of the evening sky reddened his 
cheek. Gabrielle also remained silent, consid- 
ering, she knew not what. At last she took 


284 Sintram anO Ibis Companions 


courage, and embracing her beloved, she said : 
“To-morrow thou wilt go forth to hunt the 
bear, wilt thou not? and thou wilt bring the 
spoils of the chase to thy lady? ” 

The knight gave a joyful sign of assent, and 
the rest of the evening was spent in dances and 
music. 



CHAPTER XVII. 


S BB, my noble lord,” said Sintram the 
next morning, when Boiko had ex- 
pressed his wish of going out with him, 
‘ ‘ these skates of ours give such wings to our 
course that we go down the mountain-side 
swiftly as the wind, and even in going up again 
we are too quick for any one to be able to pur- 
sue us, and on the plains no horse can keep up 
with us ; and yet they can only be worn with 
safety by those who are well practised. It 
seems as though some strange spirit dwelt in 
them, which is fearfully dangerous to any that 
have not learnt the management of them in 
their childhood.” 

Boiko answered somewhat proudly ; “ Do you 
suppose that this is the first time I have been 
amongst your mountains? Years ago I have 
joined in this sport, and, thank Heaven, there 


V 


286 Sintram anD Ibis Companione 


is no knightly exercise which does not speedily 
become familiar to me.” 

Sintram did not venture to make any further 
objections, and still less did old Biom. They 
both felt relieved when they saw with what 
skill and ease Folko buckled the skates on his 
feet, without suffering any one to assist him. 
This day they hunted up the mountain in pur- 
suit of a fierce bear which had often before 
escaped from them. Before long it was neces- 
sary that they should separate, and Sintram of- 
fered himself as a companion to Folko, who, 
touched by the humble manner of the youth 
and his devotion to him, forgot all that had lat- 
terly seemed mysterious in the pale, altered 
being before him, and agreed heartily. As now 
they continued to climb higher and higher up 
the mountain, and saw from many a giddy 
height the rocks and crags below them, looking 
like a vast expanse of sea suddenly turned into 
ice whilst tossed by a violent tempest, the 
noble Montfaucon drew his breath more freely. 
He poured forth war-songs and love-songs in 
the clear mountain air, and the startled echoes 


1 


Sintram anD Ibis Companlotis 287 


repeated from rock to rock the lays of his 
Frankish home. He sprang lightly from one 
precipice to another, using strongly and safely 
his staff for support, and turning now to the 
right, now to the left, as the fancy seized him ; 
so that Sintram was fain to exchange his former 
anxiety for a wondering admiration, and the 
hunters, whose eyes had never been taken off 
the baron, burst forth with loud applause, pro- 
claiming far and wide the fresh glory of their 
guest. 

The good fortune which usually accompanied 
Folko’s deeds of arms seemed still unwilling to 
leave him. After a short search, he and Sin- 
tram found distinct traces of the savage animal, 
and with beating hearts they followed the track 
so swiftly that even a winged enemy would have 
been unable to escape from them. But the 
creature whom they sought did not attempt a 
flight — he lay sulkily in a cavern near the top 
of a steep, precipitous rock, infuriated by the 
shouts of the hunters, and only waiting in his 
lazy fury for some one to be bold enough to 
climb up to his retreat, that he might tear him 


288 Slntram auD Ibis Companions 


to pieces. Folko and Sintram had now reached 
the foot of this rock, the rest of the hunters 
being dispersed over the far-extending plain. 
The track led the two companions up the rock, 
and they set about climbing on the opposite 
sides of it, that they might be the more sure of 
not missing their prey. Folko reached the 
lonely topmost point first, and cast his eyes 
around. A wide, boundless tract of country, 
covered with untrodden snow, was spread before 
him, melting in the distance into the lowering 
clouds of the gloomy evening sky. He almost 
thought that he must have missed the traces of 
the fearful beast, when close beside him from a 
cleft in the rock issued a long growl, and a 
huge black bear appeared on the snow, standing 
on its hind legs, and with glaring eyes it ad- 
vanced towards the baron. Sintram the while 
was struggling in vain to make his way up the 
rock against the masses of snow continually 
slipping down. 

Joyful at a combat so long untried as almost 
to be new, Folko of Montfaucon levelled his 
hunting spear, and awaited the attack of the 


Sintram anD Uns Companions 2S9 


wild beast. He suffered it to approach so near 
that its fearful claws were almost upon him ; 
then he made a thrust, and the spear-head was 
buried deep in the bear’s breast. But the furi- 
ous beast still pressed on with a fierce growl, 
kept up on its hind legs by the cross-iron of the 
spear, and the knight was forced to plant his 
feet deep in the earth to resist the savage as- 
sault ; and eyer close before him the grim and 
bloody face of the bear, and close in his ear its 
deep savage growl, wrung forth partly by the 
agony of death, partly by thirst for blood. At 
length the bear’s resistance grew weaker, and 
the dark blood streamed freely upon the snow ; 
he tottered, and one powerful thrust hurled him 
backwards over the edge of the precipice. At 
the same instant Sintram stood by the Baron of 
Montfaucon. Folko said, drawing a deep 
breath : “But I have not yet the prize in my 
hands, and have it I must, since fortune has. 
given me a claim to it. hook, one of my skates 
seems to be out of order. Thinkest thou. Sin- 
tram, that it holds enough to slide down to the 
foot of the precipice ? ” 


290 Sintram auD Ibis Companion0 


“ Ivct me go instead,” said Sintram. “ I will 
bring you the head and the claws of the bear.” 

“A true knight,” replied Folko, with some 
displeasure; “never does a knightly deed by 
halves. What I ask is, whether my skate will 
still hold?” 

As Sintram bent down to look, and was on 
the point of saying “No ! ” he suddenly heard 
a voice close to him, saying : “ Why, yes, to be 
sure ; there is no doubt about it.” 

Folko thought that Sintram had spoken and 
slid down with the swiftness of an arrow, whilst 
his companion looked up in great surprise. 
The hated form of the little Master met his 
eyes. As he was going to address him with 
angry words, he heard the sound of the baron’s 
fearful fall, and he stood still in silent horror. 
There was a breathless silence also in the abyss 
below. 

“ Now, why dost thou delay ? ” said the little 
Master, after a pause. “He is dashed to pieces. 
Go back to the castle, and take the fair Helen 
to thyself.” 

Sintram shuddered. Then his hateful com- 


Sintram anO tyie Companions 291 

panion began to praise Gabrielle’s charms in so 
glowing, deceiving words that the heart of the 
youth sw'elled with emotions he had never 
before known. He only thought of him who 
was now lying at the foot of the rock as of an 
obstacle removed between him and heaven. 
He turned towards the castle. 

But a cry was heard below: “Help! help I 
my comrade I I am yet alive, but I am sorely 
wounded.” 

Sintram’s will was changed, and he called to 
the baron, “I am coming.” 

But the little Master said : “Nothing can be 
done to help Duke Menelaus, and the fair 
Helen knows it already. She is only waiting 
for Knight Paris to comfort her.” And with 
detestable craft he wove in that tale what was 
actually happening, bringing in the most high- 
ly-wrought praises of the lovely Gabrielle ; and, 
alas I the dazzled youth yielded to him and fled ! 
Again he heard far off the baron’s voice calling 
to him: “Knight Sintram, Knight Sintram, 
thou on whom I bestowed the holy order, haste 
to me and help me I The she-bear and her 


292 Sintram anD Ibis Companions 


whelps will be upon me, and I cannot use my 
right arm ! Knight Sintram, Knight Sintram, 
haste to help me ! ” 

His cries were overpowered by the furious 
speed with which the two were carried along 
on their skates,' and by the evil words of the 
little Master, who was mocking at the late 
proud bearing of Duke Menelaus towards the 
poor Sintram. At last he shouted, “ Good 
luck to you, she-bear ! good luck to your 
whelps ! There is a glorious meal for you ! 
Now you will feed upon the fear of Heathen- 
dom, him at whose name the Moorish brides 
-weep, the mighty Baron of Montfaucon. Never 
again, O dainty knight, will you shout at the 
head of your troops, ‘ Mountjoy St. Denys ” 
But scarce had this holy name passed the lips 
of the little Master than he set up a howl of 
anguish, writhing himself with horrible contor- 
tions, and wringing his hands, and ended by 
disappearing in a storm of snow which then 
arose. 

Sintram planted his staff firmly in the ground, 
and stopped. How strangely did the wide ex- 


Sintram anO 1f3i6 Compantons 293 


panse of snow, the distant mountains above it, 
and the dark green fir-woods — how strangely 
did they all look at him in cold, reproachful 
silence ! He felt as if he must sink under the 
weight of his sorrow and his guilt. The bell of 
a distant hermitage came floating sadly over 
the plain. With a burst of tears he exclaimed, 
as the darkness grew thicker around him, 
“My mother! my mother! I had once a be- 
loved tender mother, and she said I was a good 
child ! “ A ray of comfort came to him as if 
brought on an angel’s wing; perhaps Mont- 
faucon was not yet dead ; and he flew like 
lightning along the path, back to the steep 
rock. \When he got to the fearful place, he 
stooped, and looked anxiously down the pre- 
cipice. The moon, just risen in full majesty, 
helped him. The Knight of Montfaucon, pale 
and bleeding, was half kneeling against the 
rock ; his right arm, crushed in his fall, hung 
powerless at his side ; it was plain that he could 
not draw his good sword out of the scabbard. 
But nevertheless he was keeping the bear and 
her young ones at bay by his bold threatening 


294 Sintram anD Ibis Companions 


looks, so that they only crept round him, growl- 
ing angrily, every moment ready for a fierce 
attack, but as often driven back affrighted at 
the majestic air by which he conquered even 
when defenceless. 

“Oh! what a. hero would there have per- 
ished ! ” groaned Sintram, “ and through whose 
guilt ? ” In an instant his spear flew with so 
true an aim that the bear fell weltering in 
her blood ; the young ones ran away howling. 

The baron looked up with surprise. His 
countenance beamed as the light of the moon 
fell upon it, grave and stern, yet mild, like 
some angelic vision. “Come down,” he beck- 
oned, and Sintram slid down the side of the 
precipice, full of anxious haste. He was going 
to attend to the wounded man, but Folko said : 
“First cut off the head and claws of the bear 
which I slew. I promised to bring the spoils of 
the chase to my lovely Gabrielle. Then come 
to me and bind up my wounds. My right arm 
is broken.” Sintram obeyed the baron’s com- 
mands. When the tokens of victory had been 
secured, and the broken arm bound up, Folko 


Sintram anD 1 bi 6 Companfons 295 


desired the youth to help him back to the 
castle. 

“ O Heaven ! ” said Sintram in a low voice, 
“ if I dared to look in your face ! or only knew 
how to come near you ! ” 

“Thou wert indeed going on in an evil 
course,” said Montfaucon, gravely; “but how 
could we, any of us, stand before God, did 
not repentance help us ? At any rate, thou 
hast now saved my life, and let that thought 
cheer thy heart.” 

The youth with tenderness and strength sup- 
ported the baron’s left arm, and they both went 
their way silently in the moonlight, 

\ 




CHAPTER XVIII. 


OUNDS of wailing were heard from the 



^ castle as they approached ; the chapel was 
solemnly lighted up ; within it knelt Gabrielle, 
lamenting for the death of the Knight of Mont- 
faucon. 

But how quickly was all changed when the 
noble baron, pale, indeed, and bleeding, yet hav- 
ing escaped all mortal danger, stood smiling at 
the entrance of the holy building, and said, in 
a low, gentle voice : “ Took up, Gabrielle, and 
be not affrighted, for, by the honor of my race, 
thy knight still lives.” Oh ! with what joy did 
Gabrielle’s eyes sparkle as she turned to her 
knight, and then raised them again to heaven, 
still streaming, but from the deep source of 
thankful joy ! With the help of two pages, 
Folko knelt down beside her, and they both 
sanctified their happiness with a silent prayer. 


Sintram auD Ibis Companions 297 


When they left the chapel, the wounded 
knight being tenderly supported by his lady, 
Sintram was standing without in the darkness, 
himself as gloomy as the night, and, like a bird 
of the night, shunning the sight of men. Yet 
he came trembling forward into the torchlight, 
laid the bear’s head and claws at the feet of 
Gabrielle, and said: “The noble Folko of 
Montfaucon presents the spoils of to-day’s 
chase to his lady.” 

The Norwegians burst forth with shouts of 
joyful surprise at the stranger knight, who in 
the very first hunting expedition had slain the 
most fearful and dangerous beasts of their 
mountains. 

Then Folko looked around with a smile as 
he said: “And now none of you must jeer at 
me, if I stay at home for a short time with my 
timid wife.” 

Those who the day before had talked together 
in the armorer’s forge came out from the crowd, 
and bowing low, they replied, “Noble baron, 
who could have thought that there was no 
knightly exercise in the whole world in the 


298 Smtram anD Ibis Companions 


which you would not show yourself far above 
all other men ? ” 

“The pupil of old Sir Hugh may be some- 
what trusted,” answered Folko, kindly. “But 
now, 5’ou bold northern warriors, bestow some 
praises also on. my deliverer, who saved me 
from the claws of the she-bear, when I was 
leaning against the rock, wounded by my fall,” 

He pointed to Sintram, and the general shout 
was again raised, and old Rolf, with tears of joy 
in his eyes, bent his head over his foster-son’s 
hand. But Sintram drew back shuddering. 

“Did you but know,” said he, “whom you 
see before you, all your spears would be aimed 
at my heart, and perhaps that would be the best 
thing for me. But I spare the honor of my 
father and of his race, and for this time I will 
not confess. Only this much must you know, 
noble warriors ” 

“Young man,” interrupted Folko, with a 
reproving look, “already again so wild and 
fierce ? I desire that thou wilt hold thy peace 
about thy dreaming fancies.” 

Sintram was silenced for a moment ; but 


Sintram anO Ibie Companions 299 


hardly had Folko begun smilingly to move 
towards the steps of the castle, than he cried 
out, “ Oh, no, no, noble wounded knight, stay 
3’^et a while ; I will serve thee in every thing 
that thy heart can desire, but herein I cannot 
serve thee. Brave warriors, you must and shall 
know so much as this : I am no longer worthy 
to live under the same roof with the noble baron 
of Montfaucon and his angelic wife Gabrielle. 
And you, my aged father, good night ; long not 
for me. I intend to live in the stone fortress 
on the Rocks of the Moon, till a change of some 
kind come over me.” 

There was that in his way of speaking against 
which no one dared to set himself, not even 
Folko. 

The wild Biom bowed his head humbly, and 
said, “Do according to thy pleasure, my poor 
son, for I fear that thou art right.” 

Then Sintram walked solemnly and silently 
through the castle gate, followed by the good 
Rolf. Gabrielle led her exhausted lord up to 
their apartments. 



CHAPTER XIX. 

HAT was a mournful journey on which the 



* youth and his aged foster-father went 
towards the Rocks of the Moon, through the 
wild tangled paths of the snow-clad valleys. 
Rolf from time to time sang some verses of 
hymns, in which comfort and peace were 
promised to the penitent sinner, and Sintram 
thanked him for them with looks of grateful 
sadness. Neither of them spoke a word else. 

At length, when the dawn of day was ap- 
proaching, Sintram broke silence by saying, 
“ Who are those two sitting yonder by the fro- 
zen stream — a tall man and a little one ? Their 
own wild hearts must have driven them also 
forth into the wilderness. Rolf, dost thou 
know them? The sight of them makes me 
shudder.” 


Sintram anC> Ibis Companions 301 


“Sir,” answered the old man, “your dis- 
turbed mind deceives you. There stands a 
lofty fir-tree, and the old weather-beaten stump 
of an oak, half-covered with snow, which gives 
them a somewhat strange appearance. There 
are no men sitting yonder.” 

“ But, Rolf, look there ! look again carefully! 
Now they move, they whisper together.” 

‘ ‘ Sir, the morning breeze moves the branches, 
and whistles in the sharp pine-leaves and in the 
yellow oak-leaves, and rustles the crisp snow.” 

“ Rolf, now they are both coming towards 
us. Now they are standing before us, quite 
close.” 

“ Sir, it is we who get nearer to them as we 
walk on, and the setting moon throws such 
long giant-like shadows over the plain.” 

“ Good evening ! ” said a hollow voice ; and 
Sintram knew it was the crazy pilgrim, near to 
whom stood the malignant little Master, look- 
ing more hideous than ever. 

“ You are right, sir knight,” whispered Rolf, 
as he drew back behind Sintram, and made the 
sign of the cross on his breast and his forehead. 


302 Sintram anO Ibie Companiong 


The bewildered youth, however, advanced to- 
wards the figures, and said : “You have always 
taken wonderful pleasure in being my compan- 
ions. What do you expect will come of it ? 
And do you choose to go now with me to the 
stone fortress ? - There I will tend thee, poor 
pale pilgrim ; and as to thee, frightful Master, 
most evil dwarf, I will make thee shorter by the 
head to reward thee for thy deeds yesterday.” 

“That would be a fine thing,” sneered the 
little Master ; “ and perhaps thou imaginist 
that thou wouldst be doing a great service to 
the whole world ? And, indeed, who knows ? 
Something might be gained by it ! Only, poor 
wretch, thou canst not do it.” 

The pilgrim meantime was waving his pale 
head to and fro thoughtfully, saying : “ I believe 
truly, that thou wouldst willingly have me, and 
I would go to thee willingly, but I may not yet. 
Have patience a while ; thou wilt yet surely see 
me come, but at a distant time ; and first we 
must again visit thy father together, and then 
also thou wilt learn to call me by my right 
name, my poor friend.” 


Smtram anC) Ibis Companions 303 


“Beware of disappointing me again !’’ said 
the little Master to the pilgrim in a threatening 
voice ; but he, pointing with his long, shrivelled 
hand towards the sun which was just now ris- 
ing, said, “stop either that sun or me, if thou 
canst ! ’’ 

Then the first rays fell on the snow, and little 
Master ran, muttering, down the precipice ; but 
the pilgrim walked on in the bright beams, 
calmly and with great solemnity, towards a 
neighboring castle on the mountain. It was 
not long before its chapel-bell was heard tolling 
for the dead. 

“For Heaven’s sake,’’ whispered the good 
Rolf to his knight — “for Heaven’s sake. Sir 
Sintram, what kind of companions have you 
here ? One of them cannot bear the light of 
God’s blessed sun, and the other has no sooner 
set foot in a dwelling than tidings of death 
wail after his track. Could he have been a 
murderer? ’’ 

“I do not think that,” said Sintram. “He 
seemed to me the better of the two. But it is 
a strange willfulness of his not to come with 


304 Sintram anD 1 bf 6 Companions 


me. Did I not invite him kindly ? I believe 
that he can sing well, and he should have sung 
to me some gentle lullaby. Since my mother 
has lived in a cloister, no one sings lullabies to 
me any more.” 

At this tender recollection his eyes were be- 
dewed with tears. But he did not himself 
know what he had said besides, for there was 
wildness and confusion in his spirit. They ar- 
rived at the Rocks of the Moon, and mounted 
up to the stone fortress. The castellan, an old, 
gloomy man, the more devoted to the young 
knight from his dark melancholy and wild 
deeds, hastened to lower the drawbridge. 
Greetings were exchanged in silence, and in 
silence did Sintram enter, and those joyless 
gates closed with a crash behind the future 
recluse. 



CHAPTER XX. 


WES, truly, a recluse, or at least something 
^ like it, did poor Sintram now become, for 
towards the time of the approaching Christmas 
festival his fearful dreams came over him, and 
seized him so fiercely, that all the esquires and 
servants fled with shrieks out of the castle, and 
would never venture back again. No one re- 
mained with him except Rolf and the old cas- 
tellan. After a while, indeed, Sintram became 
calm, but he went about looking so pallid and 
stfll, that he might have been taken for a wan- 
dering corpse. No comforting of the good 
Rolf, no devout soothing lays, were of any 
avail ; and the castellan, with his fierce, scarred 
features, his head almost entirely bald from a 
huge sword-cut, his stubborn silence, seemed 
like a yet darker shadow of the miserable 
knight. Rolf often thought of going to sum- 
mon the holy chaplain of Drontheim, but how 


3 o 6 Sintram anD 1bt6 Companions 


could he have left his lord alone with the 
gloomy castellan, a man who at all times raised 
in him a secret horror? Biorn had long had 
this wild, strange warrior in his service, and 
honored him on account of his unshaken fideli- 
ty and his fearless courage, though neither the 
knight nor any one else knew whence the cas- 
tellan came, nor, indeed, exactly who he was. 
Very few people knew by what name to call 
him ; but that was the more needless, since he 
never entered into discourse with any one. He 
was the castellan of the stone fortress on the 
Rocks of the Moon, and nothing more. 

Rolf committed his deep heartfelt cares to 
the merciful God, trusting that He would soon 
come to his aid ; and the merciful God did not 
fail him, for on Christmas-Kve the bell at the 
drawbridge sounded, and Rolf, looking over 
the battlements, saw the chaplain of Drontheim 
standing there, with a companion, indeed, that 
surprised him — for close beside him appeared the , 
crazy pilgrim, and the dead men’s bones on his 
dark mantle shone very strangely in the glim- 
mering starlight. But the sight of the chaplain 


Smtram anD Ibis Companions 307 


filled the good Rolf too full of joy to leave room 
for any doubt in his mind, for, thought he, 
whoever comes with him cannot but be wel- 
come ! And so he let them both in with re- 
spectful haste, and ushered them up to the hall, 
where Sintram, pale, and with a fixed look, was 
sitting under the light of one flickering lamp. 
Rolf was obliged to support and assist the crazy 
pilgrim up the stairs, for he was quite be- 
numbed with cold. 

“ I bring you a greeting from your mother, ’’ 
said the chaplain, as he came in ; and immedi- 
ately a sweet smile passed over the young 
knight’s countenance, and its deadly pallidness 
gave place to a bright, soft glow. 

“O Heaven!” murmured he, “does then 
my mother yet live, and does she care to know 
any thing about me ? ” 

“ She is endowed with a wonderful presenti- 
ment of the future,” replied the chaplain; 
“and all that you ought either to do or leave 
undone is faithfully mirrored in various ways in 
her mind, during a half-waking trance. Now 
she knows of your deep sorrow, and she sends 


3 o 8 Sintram anD 1bf6 Companions 


me, the father-confessor of her convent, to com- 
fort you, but at the same time to warn you, for 
as she affirms, and as I am also inclined to 
think, many strange and heavy trials lie before 
you.” 

Sintram bowed himself towards the chaplain 
with his arms crossed over his breast, and said, 
with a gentle smile : “Much have I been fa- 
vored — more, a thousand times more than I 
could have dared to hope in my best hours — by 
this greeting from my mother, and your visit, 
reverend sir, and all after falling more fearfully 
low than I had ever fallen before. The mercy 
of the Lord is great ; and how heavy soever 
may be the weight and punishment which He 
may send, I trust, with His grace, to be able to 
bear it.” 

Just then the door opened, and the castellan 
came in with a torch in his hand, the red glare 
of which made his face look the color of blood. 
He cast a terrified glance at the crazy pilgrim, 
who had just sunk back in a swoon, and was 
supported on his seat and tended by Rolf ; then 
he stared with astonishment at the chaplain. 


Sintram an& Ibis Companions 309 

and at last murmured : “ A strange meeting ! 
I believe that the hour for confession and rec- 
onciliation is now arrived.” 

“I believe so, too,” replied the priest, who 
had heard his low whisper ; “this seems to be 
truly a day rich in grace and peace. That poor 
man yonder, whom I found half frozen by the 
way, would make a full confession to me at 
once before he followed me to a place of shelter. 
Do as he has done, my dark-browed warrior, 
and delay not your good purpose for an instant. ’ ’ 

Thereupon he left the room with the willing 
castellan, but he turned back to say; “sir 
knight, and your esquire, take good care the 
while of my sick charge.” 

Sintram and Rolf did according to their chap- 
lain’s desire ; and when at length their cordials 
made the pilgrim open his eyes once again, the 
young knight said to him, with a friendly 
smile : “ Seest thou ? thou art come to visit me 
after all. Why didst thou refuse me when, a 
few nights ago, I asked thee so earnestly to 
come ? Perhaps I may have spoken wildly and 
hastily. Did that scare thee away ? ” 


310 Sintram anO 1 bi 0 Companione 


A sudden expression of fear came over the 
pilgrim’s countenance, but soon he again looked 
up at Sintram with an air of gentle humility, 
saying : “ O my dear, dear lord, I am most en- 
tirely devoted to you — only never speak to me 
of former passages between you and me. I am 
terrified whenever you do it. For, my lord, 
either I am mad and have forgotten all that is 
past, or that being has met you in the wood 
whom I look upon as my very powerful twin- 
brother.” 

Sintram laid his hand gently on the pilgrim’s 
mouth, as he answered: “Say nothing more 
about the matter. I most willingly promise to 
be silent.” 

Neither he nor old Rolf could understand 
what appeared to them so awful in the whole 
matter, but both shuddered. 

After a pause, the pilgrim said : “I would 
rather sing you a song — a soft, comforting song. 
Have you not a lute here ? ” 

Rolf fetched one ; and the pilgrim, half rais- 
ing himself on the couch, sang the following 
words : 


Sfntcam anC) Ibis Companions 31 1 


“ When death is coming near, 
When thy heart shrinks in fear 
And thy limbs fail, 

Then raise thy hand and pray 
To Him who smoothes thy way 
Through the dark vale. 


“ Seest thou the eastern dawn, 
Hear’st thou in the red morn 
The angel’s song ? 

Oh, lift thy drooping head. 
Thou who in gloom and dread 
Hast lain so long. 


“ Death comes to set thee free ; 

Oh, meet him cheerily 
As thy true friend, 

And all thy fears shall cease. 

And in eternal peace 
Thy penance end.” 

‘^Amen,” said Sintram and Rolf, folding 
their hands ; and whilst the last chords of the 
lute still resounded, the chaplain and the cas- 
tellan came slowly and gently into the room. 
“I bring a precious Christmas gift,” said the 
priest. “ After many sad years, hope of recon- 
ciliation and peace of conscience are returning 
to a noble, disturbed mind. This concerns thee, 
beloved pilgrim ; and do thou, my Sintram, 


312 Sintram anC) Ibis Companions 


with a joyful trust in God, take encouragement 
and example from it.” 

“More than twenty years ago,” began the 
castellan at a sign from the chaplain, “more 
than twenty years ago I was a bold shepherd, 
driving my flock up the mountains. A young 
knight followed me, whom they called Weigand 
the Slender. He wanted to buy of me my fav- 
orite little lamb for his fair bride, and offered 
me much red gold for it. I sturdily refused. 
Overbold youth boiled up in us both. A stroke 
of his sword hurled me senseless down the 
precipice.” 

“ Not killed? ” asked the pilgrim, in a scarce 
audible voice. 

“ I am no ghost,” replied the castellan, some- 
what morosely ; and then, after an earnest look 
from the priest, he continued, more humbly : 
“ I recovered slowly and in solitude, with the 
help of remedies which were easily found by 
me, a shepherd, in our productive valleys. 
When I came back into the world no man knew 
me, with my scarred face and my now bald 
head. I heard a report going through the coun- 


Sintram anD 1 bi 6 Companions 313 


try, that on account of this deed of his Sir Wei- 
gand the Slender had been rejected by his fair 
betrothed, Verena, and how he had pined away, 
and she had wished to retire into a convent, but 
her father had persuaded her to marry the 
great Knight Biorn. Then there came a fearful 
thirst for vengeance into my heart, and I dis- 
owned my name and my kindred and my home, 
and entered the service of the mighty Biorn as 
a strange wild man, in order that Weigand the 
Slender should always remain a murderer, and 
that I might feed on his anguish. So I have 
fed upon it for all these long years ; I have fed 
frightfully upon his self-imposed banishment, 
upon his cheerless return home, upon his mad- 
ness. But to-day — ” and hot tears gushed from 
his eyes — “but to-day God has broken the 
hardness of my heart ; and, dear Sir Weigand, 
look upon yourself no more as a murderer, and 
say that you will forgive me, and pray for him 

who has done you so fearful an injury, and ” 

Sobs choked his words. He fell at the feet 
of the pilgrim, who with tears of joy pressed 
him to his heart, in token of forgiveness. 


CHAPTER XXI. 



HE joy of this hour passed from its first 


^ overpowering brightness to the calm, 
thoughtful aspect of daily life, and Weigand, 
now restored to health, laid aside the mantle 
with dead men’s bones, saying : “I had chosen 
for my penance to carry these fearful remains 
about with me, with the thought that some of 
them might have belonged to him whom I have 
murdered. Therefore I sought for them round 
about, in the deep beds of the mountain-tor- 
rents, and in the high nests of the eagles and 
vultures. And while I was searching I some- 
times — could it have been only an illusion ? — 
seemed to meet a being who was very like my- 
self, but far, far more powerful, and yet still 
paler and more haggard.” 

An imploring look from Sintram stopped the 


Sintvam anC) Ibis Companions 315 


flow of his words. With a gentle smile Wei- 
gand bowed towards him, and said: “You 
know now all the deep, unutterably deep, sor- 
row which preyed upon me. My fear of you, 
and my yearning love for you, are no longer an 
enigma to your kind heart. For, dear youth, 
though you may be like your fearful father, you 
have also the kind, gentle heart of your mother ; 
and its reflection brightens your pallid, stem 
featiu'es like the glow of a morning sky, which 
lights up ice-covered mountains and snowy val- 
leys with the soft radiance of joy. But, alas! 
how long have you lived alone amidst your fel- 
low-creatures ! And how long since you have 
seen your mother, my dearly loved Sin tram I ” 

“I feel, too, as though a spring were gushing 
up in the barren wilderness,” replied the youth ; 
“and I should perchance be altogether restored, 
could I but keep you long with me, and weep 
with you, dear lord. But I have that within me 
which says that you will very soon be taken 
from me.” 

“I believe, indeed,” said the pilgrim, “that 
my late song was very nearly my last, and that 


3i 6 Sintram anD Ibis Companions 


it contained a prediction full soon to be accom- 
plished in me. But, as the soul of man is al- 
ways like the thirsty ground, the more bless- 
ings God has bestowed on us the more earnestly 
do we look out for new ones ; so would I crave 
for one more before, as I hope, my blessed end. 
Yet, indeed, it cannot be granted me,” added 
he, with a faltering voice, “for I feel myself too 
utterly unworthy of so high a gift.” 

“ But it will be granted ! ” said the chaplain, 
joyfully. “'‘He that humbleth himself shall 
be exalted,’ and I fear not to take one purified 
from murder to receive a farewell from the holy 
and forgiving countenance of Verena.” 

The pilgrim stretched both his hands up to- 
wards heaven, and an unspoken thanksgiving 
poured from his beaming eyes, and brightened 
the smile that played on his lips. 

Sintram looked sorrowfully on the ground, 
and sighed gently to himself. “Alas! who 
would dare accompany? ” 

“ My poor, good Sintram,” said the chaplain, 
in a tone of the softest kindness, “ I understand 
thee well ; but the time is not yet come. The 


Sintram an& Ibis Companions 317 


powers of evil will again raise up their wrathful 
heads within thee, and Verena must check both 
her own and thy longing desires until all is 
pme in thy spirit as in hers. Comfort thyself 
with the thought that God looks mercifully 
upon thee, and that the joy so earnestly sought 
for will come — if not here, most assuredly 
beyond the grave.” 

But the pilgrim, as though awaking out of a 
trance, rose mightily from his seat, and said : 
“ Do you please to come forth with me, rev- 
erend chaplain ? Before the sun appears in the 
heavens we could reach the convent gates, and 
I should not be far from heaven.” 

In vain did the chaplain and Rolf remind him 
of his weakness. He smiled, and said that there 
could be no words about it ; and he girded him- 
self, and tuned the lute which he had asked 
leave to take with him. His decided manner 
overcame all opposition, almost without words ; 
and the chaplain had already prepared himself 
for the journey, when the pilgrim looked with 
much emotion at Sintram, who, oppressed with 
a strange weariness, had sunk, half asleep, on a 


3i 8 Smtram ant) Ibis Companions 


couch, and said : “ Wait a moment. I know 

that he wants me to give him a soft lullaby.” 
The pleased smile of the youth seemed to say 
Yes ; and the pilgrim, touching the strings with 
a light hand, sang these words : — 


“ Sleep peacefully, dear boy ; 

Thy mother sends the song 
That whispers round thy couch, 
To lull thee all night long. 

In silence and afar 
For thee she ever prays. 

And longs once more in fondness 
Upon thy face to gaze. 


‘ ‘ And when thy waking cometh. 
Then in thy every deed. 

In all that may betide thee, 

Unto her words give heed. 

Oh, listen for her voice. 

If it be yea or nay ; 

And though temptation meet thee, 
Thou shalt not miss the way. 


“ If thou canst listen rightly. 

And nobly onward go. 

Then pure and gentle breezes 
Around thy cheeks shall blow. 
Then on thy peaceful journey 
Her blessing thou shalt feel, 
And though from thee divided. 
Her presence o’er thee steal. 


Sintram auD Ibis Companions 319 


“ O safest, sweetest comfort ! 

O blest and living light ! 

That, strong in heaven’s power. 
All terrors put to flight ! 

Rest quietly, sweet child, 

And may the gentle numbers 
Thy mother sends to thee 
Waft peace unto thy slumbers.” 


Sintram fell into a deep sleep, smiling, and 
breathing softly. Rolf and the castellan re- 
mained by his bed, whilst the two travellers 
pursued their way in the quiet starlight. 




CHAPTER XXII. 

HE dawn had almost appeared when Rolf^ 



A who had been asleep, was awakened by 
low singing ; and as he looked round, he per- 
ceived, with surprise, that the sounds came 
from the lips of the castellan, who said, as if in 
explanation: “So does Sir Weigand sing at 
the convent gates, and they are kindly opened 
to him.” Upon which old Rolf fell asleep 
again, uncertain whether what had passed had 
been a dream or a reality. After a while the 
bright sunshine awoke him again, and when he 
rose up he saw the countenance of the castel- 
lan wonderfully illuminated by the red morn- 
ing rays ; and altogether those features, once 
so fearful, were shining with a soft, nay al- 
most childlike mildness. The mysterious man 
seemed to be the while listening to the motion- 


Sintram anC) Ibis Companions 321 


less air, as if he were hearing a most pleasant 
discourse or lofty music ; and as Rolf was about 
to speak, he made him a sign of entreaty to re- 
main quiet, and continued in his eager, listen- 
ing attitude. 

At length he sank slowly and contentedly 
back in his seat, whispering : “ God be praised ! 
She has granted his last prayer ; he will be 
laid in the burial-ground of the convent, and 
now he has forgiven me in the depths of his 
heart. I can assure you that he finds a peace- 
ful end.” 

Rolf did not dare ask a question, or awake 
his lord ; he felt as if one already departed had 
spoken to him. 

The castellan long remained still, always 
smiling brightly. At last he raised himself a 
little, again listened, and said: “It is over. 
The sound of the bells is very sweet. We have 
overcome. Oh, how soft and easy does the good 
God make it to us ! ” And so it came to 
pass. He stretched himself back as if weary, 
and his soul was freed from his careworn 
body. 


> 


322 Sintram anD Ibis Companions 


Rolf now gently awoke his young knight, 
and pointed to the smiling dead. And Sintram 
smiled too ; he and his good esquire fell on 
their knees, and prayed to God for the departed 
spirit. Then they rose up, and bore the cold 
body to the vaulted hall, and watched by it with 
holy candles until the return of the chaplain. 
That the pilgrim would not come back again 
they very well knew. 

Accordingly towards mid-day the chaplain re- 
turned alone. He could scarcely do more than 
confirm what was already known to them. He 
only added a comforting and hopeful greeting 
from Sintram’s mother to her son, and told that 
the blissful Weigand had fallen asleep like a 
tired child, whilst Verena, with calm tender- 
ness, held a crucifix before him. 

“ And in eternal peace our penance end I ” 

sang Sintram, gently to himself ; and they pre- 
pared a last resting-place for the now so peace- 
ful castellan, and laid him therein with all the 
due solemn rites. 

The chaplain was obliged soon afterwards to 


Slntram anD Ibis Companions 323 


depart ; but bidding Sintram farewell, be again 
kindly said to bim : “ Tby dear motber assur- 

edly knows bow gentle and calm and good tbou 
art now ! ” 





CHAPTER XXIII. 

I N the castle of Sir Biorn of the Fiery Byes 
Christmas-Bve had not passed so brightly 
and happily ; but yet there, too, all had gone 
visibly according to God’s will. 

Folko, at the entreaty of the lord of the cas- 
tle, had allowed Gabrielle to support him into 
the hall, and the three now sat at the round 
stone table, whereon a sumptuous meal was 
laid. On either side there were long tables, at 
which sat the retainers of both knights in full 
armor, according to the custom of the north. 
Torches and lamps lighted the lofty hall with 
an almost dazzling brightness. 

Midnight had now begun its solemn reign, 
and Gabrielle softly reminded her wounded 
knight to withdraw. Biom heard her, and 
said : “You are right, fair lady ; our knight 


Sfntram auD Ibis Companions 325 


needs rest. Only let us first keep up one more 
old honorable custom.” 

And at his sign four attendants brought in 
with pomp a great boar’s head, which looked as 
if cut out of solid gold, and placed it in the 
middle of the stone table. Biorn’s retainers 
rose with reverence, and took off their helmets. 
Biorn himself did the same. 

“What means this?” asked Folko, very 
gravely. 

“What thy forefathers and mine have done 
on every Yule feast,” answered Biorn. “We 
are going to make vows on the boar’s head, and 
then pass the goblet round to their fulfilment. ’ ’ 

“ We no longer keep what our ancestors called 
the Yule feast,” said Folko; “we are good 
Christians, and we keep holy Christmas-tide.” 

“To do the one, and not to leave the other 
undone,” answered Biorn. “ I hold my ances- 
tors too dear to forget their knightly customs. 
Those who think otherwise may act according 
to their wisdom, but that shall not hinder me. 

I swear by the golden boar’s head ” And he 

stretched out his hand, to lay it solemnly upon it. 


326 Sintram anO Die Companions 


But Folko called out: “In the name of our 
holy Saviour, forbear! Where I am, and still 
have breath and will, none shall celebrate un- 
disturbed the rites of the wild heathens.” 

Biorn of the Fiery Byes glared angrily at him. 
The men of the two barons separated from each 
other, with a hollow sound of rattling armor,, 
and ranged themselves in two bodies on either 
side of the hall, each behind its leader. Already 
here and there helmets were fastened and visors 
closed. 

“Bethink ye yet what thou art doing,” said 
Biom. “ I was about to vow an eternal union 
with the house of Montfaucon, nay, even ta 
bind myself to do it grateful homage ; but if 
thou disturb me in the customs which have 
come to me from my forefathers, look to thy 
safety and the safety of all that is dear to thee. 
My wrath no longer knows any bounds.” 

Folko made a sign to the pale Gabrielle to 
retire behind his followers, saying to her: “ Be 
of good cheer, my noble wife ; weaker Chris- 
tians have braved, for the sake of God and of 
His Holy Church, greater dangers than now 


Smtram an& Ibis Companions 327 


seem to threaten us. Believe me, the Ivord of 
Montfaucon is not so easily ensnared.” 

Gabrielle obeyed, something comforted by 
Folko’s fearless smile, but the smile inflamed 
yet more the fury of Biorn. He again stretched 
out’ his hand towards the boar’s head, as if 
about to make some dreadful vow, when Folko 
snatched a gauntlet of Biorn’s off the table, 
with which he, with his unwounded left arm, 
struck so powerful a blow on the gilt idol that it 
fell crashing to the ground, shivered to j)ieces. 
Biom and his followers stood as if turned to 
stone. But soon swords were grasped by armed 
hands, shields were taken down from the walls, 
and an angry, threatening murmur sounded 
through the hall. 

At a sign from Folko, a battle-axe was 
brought him by one of his faithful retainers ; 
he swung it high in air with his powerful left 
hand, and stood looking like an avenging angel 
as he spoke these words through the tumult 
with awful calmness : “ What seek ye, O de- 
luded Northmen ? What wouldst thou, sinful 
lord? Ye are indeed become heathens; and I 


328 Sintram anD 1 bl 6 Companions 


hope to show you, by my readiness for battle, 
that it is not in my right arm alone that God 
has put strength for victory. But if ye can yet 
hear, listen to my words. Biorn, on this same 
accursed, and now, by God’s help, shivered 
boar’s head, thou didst lay thy hand when thou 
didst swear to sacrifice any inhabitants of the 
German towns that should fall into thy power. 
And Gotthard Lenz came, and Rudlieb came, 
driven on these shores by the storm. What 
didst thou then do, O savage Biorn ? What did 
ye do at his bidding, ye who were keeping the 
Yule feast with him ? Try your fortune on me. 
The Lord will be with me, as He was with those 
holy men. To arms, and — ” (he turned to his 
warriors) “let our battle-cry be Gotthard and 
Rudlieb ! ” 

Then Biorn let drop his drawn sword, then 
his followers paused, and none among the Nor- 
wegians dared lift his eyes from the ground. 
By degrees they one by one began to disappear 
from the hall ; and at last Biorn stood quite 
alone, opposite to the baron and his followers. 
He seemed hardly aware that he had been de- 


Sintram anD Ibis Companions 329 


serted, but be fell on his knees, stretched out 
his shining sword, pointed to the broken boar’s 
head, and said : “ Do with me as you have done 
with that ; I deserve no better. I ask but one 
favor, only one ; do not disgrace me, noble 
baron, by seeking shelter in another castle of 
Norway.” 

“ I fear you not,” answered Folko, after some 
thought; “and, as far as may be, I freely for- 
give you.” Then he drew the sign of the cross 
over the wild form of Biorn, and left the hall 
with Gabrielle. The retainers of the house 
of Montfaucon followed him proudly and si- 
lently. 

The hard spirit of the fierce lord of the castle 
\ was now quite broken, and he watched with in- 
,1 creased humility every look of Folko and Ga- 
brielle. But they withdrew more and more into 
the happy solitude of their own apartments, 
1 where they enjoyed, in the midst of the sharp 
winter, a bright spring-tide of happiness. The 
wounded condition of Folko did not hinder the 
evening delights of songs and music and poetry 
— but rather a new charm was added to them 

..Z.r 


330 Smtram auD Ibis Companions 


when the tall, handsome knight leant on the 
arm of his delicate lady, and they thus, chang- 
ing as it were their deportment and duties, 
walked slowly through the torch-lit halls, scat- 
tering their kindly greetings like flowers among 
the crowds of men and women. 

All this time little or nothing was heard of 
poor Sintram. The last wild outbreak of his 
father had increased the terror with which Ga- 
brielle remembered the self-accusations of the 
youth ; and the more resolutely Folko kept si- 
lence, the more did she bode some dreadful mys- 
tery. Indeed, a secret shudder came over the 
knight when he thought on the pale, dark- 
haired youth. Sintram’s repentance had bor- 
dered on settled despair ; no one knew even what 
he was doing in the fortress of evil-report on the 
Rocks of the Moon. Strange rumors were 
brought by the retainers who had fled from it, 
that the evil spirit had obtained complete 
power over Sintram, that no man could stay 
with him, and that the fidelity of the dark mys- 
terious castellan had cost him his life. 

Folko could hardly drive away the fearful 


Sintram anD Ibis Companions 331 


suspicion that the lonely young knight was 
become a wicked magician. 

And perhaps, indeed, evil spirits did flit about 
the banished Sintram, but it was without his 
calling them up. In his dreams he often saw 
the wicked enchantress Venus, in her golden 
chariot drawn by winged cats, pass over the 
battlements of the stone fortress, and heard her 
say, mocking him: “Foolish Sintram, foolish 
Sintram ! hadst thou but obeyed the little 
Master, thou wouldst now be in Helen’s arms, 
and the Rocks of the Moon would be called the 
Rocks of Love, and the stone fortress would be 
the garden of roses. Thou wouldst have lost thy 
pale face and dark hair, — for thou art only en- 
chanted, dear youth — and thine eyes would have 
beamed more softly, and thy cheeks bloomed 
more freshly, and thy hair would have been 
more golden than was that of Prince Paris when 
men wondered at his beauty. Oh, how Helen 
would have loved thee ! ” Then she showed 
him in a mirror how, as a marvellously beauti- 
ful knight, he knelt before Gabrielle, who sank 
into his arms blushing as the morning. When 


332 Sintram anD Ibie Companions 


he awoke from such dreams, he would seize 
eagerly the sword and scarf given him by his 
lady, as a shipwrecked man seizes the plank 
which is to save him ; and while the hot tears 
fell on them, he would murmur to himself: 
“There was, indeed, one hour in my sad life 
when I was worthy and happy.” 

Once he sprang up at midnight after one of 
these dreams, but this time with more thrilling 
horror, for it had seemed to him that the fea^ 
tures of the enchantress Venus had changed to^ 
wards the end of her speech, as she looked down 
upon him with marvellous scorn, and she ap- 
peared to him as the hideous little Master. The 
youth had no better means of calming his dis- 
tracted mind than to throw the sword and scarf 
of Gabrielle over his shoulders, and to hasten 
forth under the solemn starry canopy of the 
wintry sky. He walked in deep thought back- 
wards and forwards under the leafless oaks and 
the snow-laden firs which grew on the high 
ramparts. 

Then he heard a sorrowful cry of distress 
sound from the moat ; it was as if some one were 


Sintram n\\t> 1 bf 6 Companione 333 


attempting to sing, but was stopped by inward 
grief. Sintram exclaimed, “Who’s there?” 
and all was still. When he was silent, and 
again began his walk, the frightful groanings 
and moanings were heard afresh, as if they 
came from a dying person. Sintram overcame 
the horror which seemed to hold him back, and 
began in silence to climb down into the deep 
dry moat which was cut in the rock. He was 
soon so low down that he could no longer see 
the stars shining ; beneath him moved a 
shrouded form ; and sliding with involuntary 
haste down the deep descent, he stood near the 
groaning figure. It ceased its lamentations, 
and began to laugh like a maniac from beneath 
its long, folded, female garments. 

“ Oh, ho, my comrade ! oh, ho, my comrade ! 
wert thou going a little too fast ? Well, well, it 
is all right ; and see now, thou standest no 
higher than I, my pious, valiant youth ! Take 
it patiently — take it patiently ! ” 

“What dost thou want with me ? Why dost 
thou laugh ? why dost thou weep ? ” asked Sin- 
tram, impatiently. 


334 Sintram anD Ibis Companions 


“ I might ask thee the same questions,” an- 
swered the dark figure, “and thou wouldst be 
less able to answer me than I to answer thee. 
Why dost thou laugh ? why dost thou weep ? 
Poor creature ! But I will show thee a remark- 
able thing in thy fortress, of which thou 
knowest nothing. Give heed ! ” 

And the shrouded figure began to scratch and 
scrape at the stones till a little iron door opened, 
and showed a long passage which led into the 
deep darkness. 

“ Wilt thou come with me ? ” whispered the 
strange being. “It is the shortest way to thy 
father’s castle. In half-an-hour we shall come 
out of this passage, and we shall be in thy beau- 
teous lady’s apartment. Duke Menelaus shall 
lie in a magic sleep — leave that to me — and 
then thou wilt take the slight, delicate form 
in thine arms, and bring her to the Rocks of 
the Moon ; so thou wilt win back all that seemed 
lost by thy former wavering.” 

Sintram trembled visibly, fearfully shaken to 
and fro by the fever of passion and the stings of 
conscience. But at last, pressing the sword 


Sintram anC) Ibis Companions 335 


and scarf to his heart, he cried out : “ Oh ! that 
fairest, most glorious hour of my life ! If I lose 
all other joys, I will hold fast that brightest 
hour ! ” 

“A bright, glorious hour!” said the figure 
from under its veil, like an evil echo. “ Dost 
thou know whom thou then conqueredst? A 
good old friend, who only showed himself so 
sturdy to give thee the glory of overcoming him. 
Wilt thou convince thyself ? Wilt thou look ? ” 

The dark garments of the little figure flew 
open, and the dwarf warrior in strange armor, 
the gold horns on his helmet, and the curved 
spear in his hand, the very same whom Sin- 
tram thought he had slain on Niflung’s Heath, 
now stood before him and laughed. “Thou 
seest, my youth, every thing in the wide world 
is but dreams and froth ; wherefore hold fast 
the dream which delights thee, and sip up the 
froth which refreshes thee ! Hasten to that 
underground passage ; it leads up to thy angel 
Helen. Or, wouldstthou first know thy friend 
yet better?” 

His visor opened, and the hateful face of the 


336 Sintram anD Ibie Companions 


little Master glared upon the knight. Sintram 
asked, as if in a dream: “ Art thou also that 
wicked enchantress Venus?” 

“ Something like her,” answered the little 
Master, laughing, ” or rather she is something 
like me. And if thou wilt only get disen- 
chanted, and recover the beauty of Prince Paris, 
then, O Prince Paris,” and his voice changed to 
an alluring song, “ then, O Prince Paris, I shall 
be fair like thee ! ” 

At this moment the good Rolf appeared above 
on the rampart. A consecrated taper in his 
lantern shone down into the moat, as he sought 
for the missing young knight. ‘ ‘ In God’s name, 
Sir Sintram,” he called out, “what has the « 
spectre of him whom you slew on Niflung’s 
Heath, and whom I never could bury, to do 
with you ? ” 

“ Seest thou well ? hearest thou well ? ” whis- 
pered the little Master, and drew back into the 
darkness of the underground passage. “The 
wise man up there knows me well. There was 
nothing in thy heroic feat. Come, take the 
joys of life while thou mayst.” 


Sintram anO 1 bi 6 CompaiUons 337 


But Sintram sprang back, with a strong effort, 
into the circle of light made by the shining 
of the taper from above, and cried out: “ Depart 
from me, unquiet spirit ! I know well that I 
bear a name on me in which thou canst have 
no part.” 

Little Master rushed in fear and rage into the 
passage, and, yelling, shut the iron door be- 
hind him. It seemed as if he could still be 
heard groaning and roaring. 

Sintram climbed up the wall of the moat, and 
made a sign to his foster-father not to speak to 
him. He only said : ” One of my best joys, yes, 
the very best, has been taken from me, but, by 
God’s help, I am not yet lost.” 
j In the earliest light of the following morning, 

I- ^he and Rolf stopped up the entrance to the 
perilous passage with huge blocks of stone. 





CHAPTER XXIV. 

HE long northern winter was at last ended. 



* the fresh green leaves rustled merrily in the 
woods, patches of soft moss twinkled amongst 
the rocks, the valleys grew green, the brooks 
sparkled, the snow melted from all but the 
highest mountain-tops, and the bark which 
was ready to carry away Eolko and Gabrielle 
danced on the sunny waves of the sea. The 
baron, now quite recovered, and strong and 
fresh as though his health had sustained no in- 
jury, stood one morning on the shore with his 
fair lady ; and, full of glee at the prospect of re- 
turning to their home, the noble pair looked 
on, well-pleased, at their attendants, who were 
busied in lading the ship. 

Then said one of them, in the midst of a con- 
fused sound of talking : “ But what has appear- 
ed to me the most fearful and the most strange 
thing in this northern land, is the stone fortress 


Smtrarn ant) Ibis Companions 339 


on the Rocks of the Moon. I have never, in- 
deed, been inside it, but when I used to see it 
in our huntings, towering above the tall fir- 
trees, there came a tightness over my breast, as 
if something unearthly were dwelling in it. 
And a few weeks ago, when the snow was yet 
lying hard in the valleys, I came unawares 
quite close upon the strange building. The 
young knight Sintram was walking alone on 
the ramparts as twilight came on, like the 
spirit of a departed knight, and he drew from 
the lute which he carried such soft, melancholy 
tones, and he sighed so deeply and sorrow- 
fully ” 

The voice of the speaker was drowned in the 
noise of the crowd, and as he also just then 
reached the ship with his package hastily fas- 
tened up, Folko and Gabrielle could not hear 
the rest of his speech. But the fair lady looked 
on her knight with eyes dim with tears, and 
sighed: “Is it not behind those mountains 
that the Rocks of the Moon lie ? The unhappy 
Sintram makes me sad at heart.” 

“ I understand thee, sweet, gracious lady, and 


340 Sintram anD 1 bi 6 Companions 


the pure compassion of thy heart,” replied 
Folko, instantly ordering his swift-footed steed 
to be brought. He placed his noble lady under 
the charge of his retainers, and leaping into the 
saddle, he hastened, followed by the grateful 
smiles of Gabrielle, along the valley towards 
the stone fortress. 

Sintram was seated near the drawbridge, 
touching the strings of the lute, and shedding 
some tears on the golden chords, almost as 
Montfaucon’s esquire had described him. Sud- 
denly a cloudy shadow passed over him, and he 
looked up, expecting to see a flight of cranes in 
the air, but the sky was clear and blue. While 
the young knight was still wondering, a long 
bright spear fell at his feet from a battlement 
of the armory turret. 

“Take it up — make good use of it ! thy foe is 
near at hand ! Near also is the downfall of thy 
dearest happiness. ’ ’ Thus he heard it distinctly 
whispered in his ear ; and it seemed to him that 
he saw the shadow of the little Master glide 
close by him to a neighboring cleft in the rock. 
But at the same time also a tall, gigantic, hag- 


Stntram anO Ibis Companions 341 


gard figure passed along the valley, in some 
measure like the departed pilgrim, only much, 
very much, larger, and he raised his long bony 
arm fearfully threatening, then disappeared in 
an ancient tomb. 

At the very same instant. Sir Folko of Mont- 
faucon came swiftly as the wind up the Rocks 
of the Moon, and he must have seen something 
of those strange apparitions, for, as he stopped 
close behind Sintram, he looked rather pale, 
and asked low and earnestly: “Sir knight, 
who are those two with whom you were just 
now holding converse here ? ” 

“The good God knows,” answered Sintram, 
“ I know them not.” 

“If the good God does but know!” cried 
Montfaucon, “but I fear me that He knows 
very little more of you or your deeds.” 

“ You speak strangely harsh words,” said Sin- 
tram. “Yet ever since that evening of misery, 
— alas ! and even long before — I must bear with 
all that comes from you. Dear sir, you may be- 
lieve me, I know not those fearful companions ; 
I call them not, and I know not what terrible 


342 Sintram anD 1 bi 6 Companione 


curse binds them to my footsteps. The merci- 
ful God, as I would hope, is mindful of me the 
while, as a faithful shepherd does not forget 
even the worst and most widely straying of his 
flock, but calls after it with an anxious voice in 
the gloomy wilderness.” 

Then the anger of the baron was quite melted. 
Two bright tears stood in his eyes, and he said : 
“No, assuredly, God has not forgotten thee; 
only do thou not forget thy gracious God. I 
did not come to rebuke thee — I came to bless 
thee in Gabrielle’s name and in my own. The 
Tord preserve thee, the Lord guide thee, and 
the Lord lift thee up ! And, Sintram, on the 
far-off shores of Normandy I shall bear thee in 
mind, and I shall hear how thou strugglest 
against the curse which weighs down thy un- 
happy life ; and if thou ever shake it off, and 
stand as a noble conqueror over Sin and Death, 
then thou shalt receive from me a token of love 
and reward more precious than either thou or I 
can understand at this moment.” 

The words flowed prophetically from the 
baron’s lips ; he himself was only half-conscious 


Sintram anD 1bi6 Companions 343 


of what he said. With a kind salutation he 
turned his noble steed, and again flew down the 
valley towards the seashore. 

“Fool, fool! thrice a fool!” whispered the 
angry voice of the little Master in Sintram’ s 
ear. But old Rolf was singing his morning 
hymn in clear tones within the castle, and the 
last lines were these : 

“ Whom worldlings scorn, 

Who lives forlorn, 

On God’s own word doth rest ; 

With heavenly light 
His path is bright, 

His lot among the blest.” 

Then a holy joy took possession of Sintram’ s 
heart, and he looked around him yet more 
gladly than in the hour when Gabrielle gave 
him the scarf and sword, and Folko dubbed him 
knight. 




CHAPTER XXV. 

HE baron and his lovely lady were sailing 



* across the broad sea with favoring gales 
of spring, nay, the coast of Normandy had al- 
ready appeared above the waves ; but still was 
Biorn of the Fiery Eyes sitting gloomy and 
speechless in his castle. He had taken no 
leave of his guests. There was more of proud 
fear of Montfaucon than of reverential love for 
him in his soul, especially since the adventure 
with the boar’s head ; and the thought was bit- 
ter to his haughty spirit, that the great baron, 
the flower and glory of their whole race, should 
have come in peace to visit him, and should 
now be departing in displeasure, in stern, re- 
proachful displeasure. He had constantly be- 
fore his mind, and it never failed to bring fresh 
pangs, the remembrance of how all had come 
to pass, and how all might have gone other- 
wise ; and he was always fancying he could 


Sfntram anO Ibis Companions 345 


hear the songs in which after generations would 
recount this voyage of the great Folko, and the 
worthlessness of the savage Biorn. At length, 
full of fierce anger, he cast away the fetters of 
his troubled spirit ; he burst out of the castle 
with all his horsemen, and began to carry on a 
warfare more fearful and more lawless than any 
in which he had yet been engaged. 

Sintram heard the sound of his father’s war- 
hom, and committing the stone fortress to old 
Rolf, he sprang forth ready armed for the com- 
bat. But the flames of the cottages and farms 
on the mountains rose up before him, and 
showed him, written as if in characters of fire, 
what kind of war his father was waging. Yet 
he went on towards the spot where the army 
was mustered, but only to offer his mediation, 
affirming that he would not lay his hand on his 
good sword in so abhorred a service, even 
though the stone fortress, and his father’s castle 
besides, should fall before the vengeance of 
their enemies. Biom hurled the spear which 
he held in his hand against his son with mad 
fury. The deadly weapon whizzed past him. 


346 Smtram anC> Ibis Companlone 


Sintram remained standing with his visor 
raised ; he did not move one limb in his de- 
fence, when he said: “Father, do what you 
will, but I join not in your godless warfare.” 

Biorn of the Fiery Eyes laughed scornfully. 
“ It seems I am always to have a spy over me 
here ; my son succeeds to the dainty French 
knight ! ” But nevertheless he came to himself, 
accepted Sintram’s mediation, made amends 
for the injuries he had done, and returned 
gloomily to his castle. Sintram went back 
to the Rocks of the Moon. 

Such occurrences were frequent after that 
time. It went so far that Sintram came to be 
looked upon as the protector of all those whom 
his father pursued with relentless fury ; but 
nevertheless sometimes his own wildness would 
carry the young knight away to accompany his 
fierce father in his fearful deeds. Then Biorn 
used to laugh with horrible pleasure, and to 
say : “ See there, my son, how the flames we 
have lighted blaze up from the villages, as the 
blood spouts up from the wounds our swords 
have made ! It is plain to me, however much 


Sintram an& Ibis Companions 347 


thou mayest pretend to the contrary, that thou 
art, and wilt ever remain, my true and beloved 
heir ! ” 

After thus fearfully erring, Sintram could find 
no comfort but in hastening to the chaplain of 
Dronthiem, and confessing to him his misery 
and his sins. The chaplain would freely ab- 
solve him, after due penance and repentance, 
and again raise up the broken-hearted youth, 
but would often say : “ Oh, how nearly hadst 
thou reached thy last trial, and gained the vic- 
tory, and looked on Verena’s countenance, and 
atoned for all ! Now thou hast thrown thyself 
back for years. Think, my son, on the short- 
ness of man’s life ; if thou art always falling 
back anew, how wilt thou ever gain the summit 
on this side the grave ? ” 

Years came and went, and Biorn’s hair was 
white as snow, and the youth Sintram had 
reached the middle age. Old Rolf was now 
scarcely able to leave the stone fortress, and 
sometimes he said : “I feel it a burden that my 
life should yet be prolonged ; but also there is 
much comfort in it, for I still think the good 


348 Slntram anO Ibis Companions 


God has in store for me here below some great 
happiness, and it must be something in which 
you are concerned, my beloved Sir Sintram, 
for what else in the whole world could rejoice 
me?” 

But all remained as it was, and Sintram’s 
fearful dreams at Christmas-time each year 
rather increased than diminished in horror. 
Again the holy season was drawing near, and 
the mind of the sorely-afflicted knight was more 
troubled than ever before. Sometimes, if he 
had been reckoning up the nights till it should 
come, a cold sweat would stand on his forehead, 
while he said : “ Mark my words, dear old fos- 
ter-father, this time something most awfully 
decisive lies before me.” 

One evening he felt an overwhelming anxiety 
about his father. It seemed to him that the 
Prince of Darkness was going up to Biorn’s 
castle ; and in vain did Rolf remind him that 
the snow was lying deep in the valleys, in vain 
did he suggest that the knight might be over- 
taken by his frightful dreams in the lonely 
mountains during the night-time. “ Nothing 


Sintram anO Ibis Companions 349 


can be worse to me than remaining here would 
be,” replied Sin tram. 

He took his horse from the stable, and rode 
forth in the gathering darkness. The noble 
steed slipped and stumbled and fell in the track- 
less ways, but his rider always raised him up, 
and urged him only more swiftly and eagerly 
towards the object which he longed and yet 
dreaded to reach. Nevertheless, he might 
never have arrived at it, had not his faithful 
hound Skovmark kept with him. The dog 
sought out the lost track for his beloved mas- 
ter, and invited him into it with joyous bark- 
ings, and warned him by his howls against 
precipices and treacherous ice under the snow\ 
Thus they arrived about midnight at Biorn’s 
castle. The windows of the hall shone opposite 
to them with a brilliant light, as though some 
great feast were kept there, and confused 
sounds, as of singing, met their ears. Sintram 
gave his horse hastily to some retainers in the 
court-yard, and ran up the steps, whilst Skov- 
mark stayed by the well-known horse. 

A good esquire came towards Sintram within 


350 Sintram ant) 1 bi 6 Companions 


the castle, and said : “ God be praised, my dear 
master, that you are come, for surely nothing 
good is going on above. But take heed to your- 
self also, and be not deluded. Your father has 
a guest with him — and, as I think, a hateful 
one.” / 

Sintram shuddered as he threw open the 
doors. A little man in the dress of a miner was 
sitting with his back towards him. The armor 
had been for some time past again ranged 
round the stone table, so that only two places 
were left empty. The seat opposite the door 
had been taken by Biorn of the Fiery Byes, and 
the dazzling light of the torches fell upon his 
features with so red a flare, that he perfectly 
enacted that fearful surname. 

‘ ‘ Father, whom have you here with you ? ’ * 
cried Sintram ; and his suspicions rose to a cer- 
tainty as the miner turned round, and the de- 
testable face of the little Master grinned from 
under his dark hood. 

‘‘Yes, just see, my fair son,” said the wild 
Biorn, “thou hast not been here for a long 
while — and so to-night this jolly comrade has 


Sintram ant) Ibis Companions 351 


paid me a visit, and thy place has been taken. 
But throw one of the suits of armor out of the 
way, and put a seat for thyself instead of it, and 
come and drink with us, and be merry.” 

“Yes, do. Sir Sintram,” said the little Master, 
with a laugh. “ Nothing worse could come of 
it than that the broken pieces of armor might 
clatter somewhat strangely together, or at most 
that the disturbed spirit of him to whom the 
suit belonged might look over your shoulder; 
but he would not drink up any of our wine — 
ghosts have nothing to do with that. So now 
fall to ! ” 

Biom joined in the laughter of the hideous 
stranger with wild mirth ; and while Sintram 
was mustering up his whole strength not to lose 
his senses at so terrible words, and was fixing a 
calm, steady look on the little Master’s face, the 
old man cried out : ‘ ‘ Why dost thou look at 

him so ? Does it seem to thee as though thou 
sawest thyself in a mirror? Now that you are 
together, I do not see it so much ; but a while 
ago I thought you were like enough to each 
other to be mistaken.” 


352 Sintram an& Ibis Companions 


“God forbid!*’ said Sintram, walking up 
close to the fearful apparition: “I command 
thee, detestable stranger, to depart from this 
castle, in right of my authority as my fa- 
ther’s heir — as a consecrated knight, and as a 
spirit!’’ 

Biorn seemed as if he wished to oppose him- 
self to this command with all his savage might. 
The little Master muttered to himself : “ Thou 
art not by any means the master in this house, 
pious knight ; thou hast never lighted a fire on 
this hearth.” Then Sintram drew the sword 
which Gabrielle had given him, held the cross 
of the hilt before the eyes of his evil guest, and 
said calmly, but with a powerful voice : “ Wor- 
ship, or fly ! ” And he fled, the frightful stran- 
ger — he fled with such lightning speed, that it 
could scarcely be seen whether he had sprung 
through the window or the door. But in going, 
he overthrew some of the armor, the tapers 
went out, and it seemed that the pale blue 
flame which lighted up the hall in a marvellous 
manner, gave a fulfilment to the little Master’s 
former words, and that the spirits of those to 


Sintram anD 1 bi 6 Compantone 353 


whom the armor had belonged, were leaning 
over the table, grinning fearfully. 

Both the father and the son were filled with 
horror ; but each chose an opposite way to save 
himself. Biom wished to have his hateful 
guest back again, and the power of his will was 
seen when the little Master’s step resounded 
anew on the stairs, and his brown shrivelled 
hand shook the lock of the door. On the other 
hand, Sintram ceased not to say within him- 
self : “We are lost if he come back ! We are 
lost to all eternity if he come back ! ” And he 
fell on his knees, and prayed fervently from his 
troubled heart to Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. 
Then the little Master left the door, and again 
Biorn willed him to return, and again Sintram’s 
prayers drove him away. So went on this 
strife of wills throughout the long night, and 
howling whirlwinds raged the while around the 
castle, till all the household thought the end of 
the world was come. At length the dawn of 
morning appeared through the windows of the 
hall — the fury of the storm was lulled — Biorn 
sank back powerless in slumber on his seat — 


354 Slntcam anD 1 bl 6 Companfons 


peace and hope came to the inmates of the 
castle — and Sintram, pale and exhausted, went 
out to breathe the dewy air of the mild winter’s 
morning before the castle gates. 




CHAPTER XXVI. 

HE faithful Skovmark followed his master, 



* caressing him; and when Sintram fell 
asleep on a stone seat in the wall, he lay at his 
feet, keeping watchful guard. Suddenly he 
pricked up his ears, looked round with delight, 
and bounded joyfully down the mountain. 
Just afterwards the chaplain of Drontheim 
appeared amongst the rocks, and the good 
beast went up to him as if to greet him, and 
then again ran back to the knight to announce 
the welcome visitor. 

Sintram opened his eyes, as a child whose 
Christmas gifts have been placed at his bedside. 
For the chaplain smiled at him as he had never 
yet seen him smile. There was in it a token of 
victory and blessing, or at least of the near ap- 
proach of both. ‘ ‘ Thou hast done much y ester- 


356 Sintram anD Die Companions 


day, very much,” said the holy priest ; and his 
hands were joined, and his eyes full of bright 
tears. ‘ ‘ I praise God for thee, my noble knight. 
Verena knows all, and she, too, praises God for 
thee. I do indeed now dare hope that the time 
will soon come when thou mayest appear before 
her. But Sintram, Sir Sintram, there is need 
of haste, for the old man above requires speedy 
aid, and thou hast still a heavy — as I hope the 
last — yet a most heavy trial to undergo for his 
sake. Arm thyself, my knight, arm thyself 
even with bodily weapons. In truth, this time 
only spiritual armor is needed, but it always 
befits a knight, as well as a monk, to wear in 
decisive moments the entire solemn garb of his 
station. If it so please thee, we will go directly 
to Drontheim together. Thou must return 
thence to-night. Such is a part of the hidden 
decree which has been dimly unfolded to 
Verena’ s foresight. Here there is yet much 
that is wild and distracting, and thou hast great 
need to-day of calm preparation.” 

With humble joy Sintram bowed his assent, 
and called for his horse and for a suit of armor. 


Sintram anD 1 bl 6 Companions 357 


“Only,” added he, “ let not any of that armor 
be brought which was last night overthrown in 
the hall ! ” 

His orders were quickly obeyed. The arms 
which were fetched, adorned with fine engraved 
work, the simple helmet, formed rather like 
that of an esquire than a knight, the lance 
of almost gigantic size, which belonged to the 
suit — on all these the chaplain gazed in deep 
thought, and with melancholy emotion. At 
last, when Sintram, with the help of his es- 
quires, was wellnigh equipped, the holy priest 
spoke : 

“Wonderful providence of God! See, dear 
Sintram, this armor and this spear were formerly 
those of Sir Weigand the Slender, and with 
them he did many mighty deeds. When he 
was tended by your mother in the castle, and 
when even your father still showed himself kind 
towards him, he asked, as a favor, that his 
armor and his lance should be allowed to hang 
in Biorn’s armory — Weigand himself, as you 
well know, intended to build a cloister and to 
live there as a monk — and he put his old es- 


358 Sintram an& Ibis Companions 


quire’s helmet with it, instead of another, be- 
cause he was yet wearing that one when he first 
saw the fair Verena’s angelic face. How won- 
drously does it now come to pass that these very 
arms, which have so long been laid aside, 
should be brought to you for the decisive hour 
of your life ! To me, as far as my short-sighted 
human wisdom can tell — to me it seems truly a 
very solemn token, but one full of high and 
glorious promise.” 

Sintram stood now in complete array, com- 
posed and stately, and, from his tall slender 
figure, might have been taken for a youth had 
not the deep lines of care which furrowed his 
countenance shown him to be advanced in 
years. 

‘ ‘ Who has placed boughs on the head of my 
war-horse ?” asked Sintram of the esquires, 
with displeasure. “I am not a conqueror, nor 
a wedding-guest. And, besides, there are no 
boughs now but those red and yellow crack- 
ling oak-leaves, dull and dead like the season 
itself.” 

“Sir knight, I know not myself,” answered 


Sintram an& Ibis Companions 359 


an esquire ; “but it seemed to me that it must 
be so.” 

“ Let it be,” said the chaplain. “ I feel that 
this also comes as a token full of meaning from 
the right source.” 

Then the knight threw himself into his sad- 
dle ; the priest went beside him ; and they both 
rode slowly and silently towards Drontheim. 
The faithful dog followed his master. When 
the lofty castle of Drontheim appeared in sight, 
a gentle smile spread itself over Sintram’s coun- 
tenance like sunshine over a wintry valley. 

“ God has done great things for me,” said he. 
“ I once rushed from here a fearfully wild boy ; 
I now come back a penitent man. I trust that 
it will yet go well with my poor troubled life.” 

The chaplain assented kindly, and soon after- 
wards the travellers passed under the echoing 
vaulted gateway into the castle yard. At a sign 
from the priest, the retainers approached with 
respectful haste and took charge of the horse ; 
then he and Sintram went through long wind- 
ing passages and up many steps to the remote 
chamber which the chaplain had chosen for 


360 Sintram anC) Ibis Companions 


himself, — far away from the noise of men, and 
near to the clouds and the stars. There the 
two passed a quiet day in devout prayer, and 
earnest reading of Holy Scripture. 

When the evening began to close in, the chap- 
lain arose and said : “ And now, my knight, get 
ready thy horse, and mount and ride back again 
to thy father’s castle. A toilsome way lies be- 
fore thee, and I dare not go with you. But I 
can and will call upon the Lord for you all 
through the long fearful night. O beloved in- 
strument of the Most High, thou wilt yet not 
be lost ! ” 

Thrilling with strange forebodings, but never- 
theless strong and vigorous in spirit, Sintram 
did according to the holy man’s desire. The 
sun set as the knight approached a long valley, 
strangely shut in by rocks, through which lay 
the road to his father’s castle. 



CHAPTER XXVII. 


O EFORE entering the rocky pass the knight, 
^ with a prayer and thanksgiving, looked 
back once more at the castle of Drontheim. 
There it was, so vast and quiet and peaceful ; 
the bright windows of the chaplain’s high cham- 
ber yet lighted up by the last gleam of the sun, 
which had already disappeared. In front of 
Sintram was the gloomy valley, as if his grave. 
Then there came towards him some one riding 
on a small horse ; and Skovmark, who had 
gone up to the stranger as if to find out who he 
was, now ran back with his tail between his 
legs and his ears put back, howling and whin- 
ing, and crept, terrified, under his master’s war- 
horse. But even the noble steed appeared to 
have forgotten his once so fearless and war-like 
ardor. He trembled violently, and when the 


362 Slntram anD Ibis Companions 


knight would have turned him towards the 
stranger, he reared and snorted and plunged, 
and began to throw himself backwards. It was 
only with difficulty that Sintram’s strength and 
horsemanship got the better of him, and he was 
all white with foam when Sintram came up to 
the unknown traveller. 

“You have cowardly beasts with you,” said 
the latter, in a low smothered voice. 

Sintram was unable, in the ever-increasing 
darkness, rightly to distinguish what kind of 
being he saw before him : only a very pallid, 
face, which at first he had thought was covered 
with freshly fallen snow, met his eyes from 
nmidst the long, hanging garments. It seemed 
that the stranger carried a small box wrapped 
up ; his little horse, as if wearied out, bent his 
head down towards the ground, whereby a bell, 
which hung from the wretched torn bridle 
under his neck, was made to give a strange 
sound. After a short silence Sintram replied : 
“ Noble steeds avoid those of a worse race, be- 
cause they are ashamed of them ; and the bold- 
est dogs are attacked by a secret terror at sight 


Sintram anD Ibis Compaviions 363 


of forms to which they are not accustomed. I 
have no cowardly beasts with me.” 

“Good, sir knight ; then ride with me through 
the valley.” 

“I am going through the valley, but I want 
no companions.” 

“But perhaps I want one. Do you not see 
that I am unarmed? And at this season, at 
this hour, there are frightful, unearthly beasts 
about.” 

Just then, as though to confirm the awful 
words of the stranger, a thing swung itself down 
from one of the nearest trees, covered with 
hoar-frost, — no one could say if it were a snake 
or a lizard, — it curled and twisted itself, and 
appeared about to slide down upon the knight 
or his companion. Sintram levelled his spear, 
and pierced the creature through. But, with 
the most hideous contortions, it fixed itself 
firmly on the spear-head ; and in vain did the 
knight endeavor to rub it off against the rocks 
or the trees. Then he let his spear rest upon 
his right shoulder, with the point behind him, 
so that the horrible beast no longer met his 


364 Stntram anO Ibis Companions 


sight ; and he said, with good courage, to the 
stranger : “It does seem, indeed, that I could 
help you, and I am not forbidden to have an 
unknown stranger in my company ; so let us 
push on bravely into the valley ! ” 

“ Help ! ” So resounded the solemn answer ; 
“not help. I perhaps may help thee. But 
God have mercy upon thee if the time should 
come when I could no longer help thee. Then 
thou wouldst be lost, and I should become very 
frightful to thee. But we will go through the 
valley — I have thy knightly word for it. Come ! ’ ’ 
They rode forward ; Sintram’s horse still 
showing signs of fear, the faithful dog still 
whining, but both obedient to their master’s 
will. The knight was calm and steadfast. The 
snow had slipped down from the smooth rocks, 
and by the light of the rising moon, could be 
seen various strange twisted shapes on their 
sides, some looking like snakes, and some like 
human faces ; but they were only formed by the 
veins in the rock and the half-bare roots of 
trees, which had planted themselves in that 
desert place with capricious firmness. High 


Slntram anD Ibis Companions 365 


above and at a great distance, the castle of 
Drontheim, as if to take leave, appeared again 
through an opening in the rocks. The knight 
then looked keenly at his companion, and he 
almost felt as if Weigand the Slender were rid- 
ing beside him. 

“In God’s name,’’ cried he, “art thou not 
the shade of that departed knight who suffered 
and died for Verena ? ’’ 

“ I have not suffered, I have not died ; but 
ye suffer, and ye die, poor mortals ! ’ ’ murmured 
the stranger. “ I am not Weigand. I am that 
other who was so like him, and whom thou hast 
also met before now in the wood.” 

Sintram strove to free himself from the terror 
which came over him at these words. He 
looked at his horse ; it appeared to him entirely 
altered. The dry, many-colored oak leaves on 
its head were waving like the flames around a 
sacrifice in the uncertain moonlight. He looked 
down again, to see after his faithful Skovmark. 
Fear had likewise most wondrously changed 
him. On the ground in the middle of the road 
were lying dead men’s bones, and hideous liz- 


366 Sintram anD Ibis Companions 


ards were crawling about ; and, in defiance of 
the wintry season, poisonous mushrooms were 
growing up all around. 

“ Can this be still my horse on which I am 
riding? ” said the knight to himself, in a low 
voice ; “ and can that trembling beast which 
runs at my side be my dog ? ’ ’ 

Then some one called after him, in a yelling 
voice, “ Stop ! stop ! Take me also with you ! 

Looking round, Sintram perceived a small, 
frightful figure with horns, and a face partly 
like a wild boar and partly like a bear, walking 
along on its hind legs, which were those of a 
horse ; and in its hand was a strange, hideous 
weapon, shaped like a hook or a sickle. It was 
the being who had been wont to trouble him in 
his dreams ; and alas ! it was also the wretched 
little Master himself, who, laughing wildly, 
stretched out a long claw towards the knight. 

The bewildered Sintram murmured : “ I must 
have fallen asleep ; and now my dreams are 
coming over me ! ” 

“Thou art awake,” replied the rider of the 
little horse, “ but thou knowest me also in thy 


Smtram anC) Ibis Companions 367 


dreams. For, behold ! I am Death.” And his 
garments fell from him, and there appeared a 
mouldering skeleton, its ghastly head crowned 
with serpents ; that which he had kept hidden 
under his mantle was an hour-glass with the 
sand almost run out. Death held it towards 
the knight in his fleshless hand. The bell at 
the neck of the little horse gave forth a solemn 
sound. It was a passing bell. 

“ Lord, into Thy hands I commend my spir- 
it ! ” prayed Sintram ; and full of earnest devo- 
tion, he rode after Death, who beckoned him on. 

“He has thee not yet! He has thee not 
yet I ” screamed the fearful fiend. “ Give thy- 
self up to me rather. In one instant, — for swift 
are thy thoughts, swift is my might, — in one in- 
stant thou shalt be in Normandy. Helen yet 
blooms in beauty as when she departed hence, 
and this very night she would be thine.” And 
once again he began his unholy praises of 
Gabrielle’s loveliness, and Sintram’s heart 
glowed like wild-fire in his weak breast. 

Death said nothing more, but raised the hour- 
glass in his right hand yet higher and higher ; 


368 Sintram an& 1 bi 6 Companions 


and as the sand now ran out more quickly a soft 
light streamed from the glass over Sintram’s 
countenance, and then it seemed to him as if 
eternity in all its calm majesty were rising be- 
fore him, and a world of confusion dragging 
him back with a deadly grasp. 

“ I command thee, wild form that followest 
me,” cried he, “ I command thee, in the name 
of our Lord Jesus Christ, to cease from thy 
seducing words, and to call thyself by that name 
by which thou art recorded in Holy Writ ! ” 

A name, more fearful than a thunderclap, 
burst despairingly from the lips of the Tempter, 
and he disappeared. 

“ He will return no more,” said Death, in a 
kindly tone. 

“ And now I am become wholly thine, my 
stern companion ? ” 

“ Not yet, my Sintram. I shall not come to 
thee till many, many years are past. But thou 
must not forget me the while.” 

“ I will keep the thought of thee steadily be- 
fore my soul, thou fearful yet wholesome mon- 
itor, thou awful yet loving guide ! ” 


Sintram anC) Ibis Companions 369 

“ Oh ! I can truly appear very gentle.” 

And so it proved indeed. His form became 
more softly defined in the increasing gleam of 
light which shone from the hour-glass ; the fea- 
tures, which had been awful in their sternness, 
wore a gentle smile ; the crown of serpents be- 
came a bright palm-wreath ; instead of the 
horse appeared a white misty cloud in the 
moonlight ; and the bell gave forth sounds as 
of sweet lullabies. Sintram thought he could 
hear these words amidst them ; 

“ The World and Satan are o’ercome, 

Before thee gleams eternal light, 

Warrior, who hast won the strife, 

Save from darkest shades of night 
Him before whose aged eyes 
All my terrors soon shall rise. ’ ’ 

The knight well knew that his father was 
meant ; and he urged on his noble steed, which 
now obeyed his master willingly and gladly, 
and the faithful dog also again ran beside him 
fearlessly. Death had disappeared ; but in front 
of Sintram there floated a bright morning- 
cloud, which continued visible after the sun had 
risen clear and warm in the bright winter sky. 



CHAPTER XXVIII. 

“ T T E is dead ! the horrors of that fearful 

A stormy night have killed him ! ” Thus 
said, about this time, some of Biorn’s retainers, 
who had not been able to bring him back to his 
senses since the morning of the day before ; 
they had made a couch of wolf and bear skins 
for him in the great hall, in the midst of the 
armor which still lay scattered around. One of 
the esquires said, with a low sigh : ‘ ‘ The Eord 
have mercy on his poor wild soul.” 

Just then the warder blew his horn from his 
tower, and a trooper came into the room with a 
look of surprise. ‘ ‘ A knight is coming hither, ’ ’ 
he said, “ a wonderful knight. I could have 
taken him for our Lord Sintram — but a bright, 
bright morning cloud floats so close before him, 
and throws over him such clear light, that one 
could fancy red flowers were showered down 
upon him. Besides, his horse has a wreath of 


Sintram mt> 1 bi 6 Companions 371 


red leaves on his head, which was never a cus- 
tom of the son of our dead lord.” 

“Just such a one,” replied another, “I wove 
for him yesterday. He was not pleased with it 
at first, but afterwards he let it remain.” 

“ But why didst thou that? ” 

“ It seemed to me as if I heard a voice singing 
again and again in my ear : ‘ Victory ! victory ! 
the noblest victory ! The knight rides forth to 
victory ! ’ And then I saw a branch of our 
oldest oak-tree stretched towards me, which 
had kept on almost all its red and yellow leaves, 
in spite of the snow. So I did according to 
what I had heard sung; and I plucked some 
of the leaves, and wove a triumphal wreath for 
the noble war-horse. At the same time Skov- 
mark, — you know that the faithful beast had 
always a great dislike to Biorn, and therefore 
had gone to the stable with the horse, — Skov- 
mark jumped upon me, fawning, and seemed 
pleased, as if he wanted to thank me for my 
work ; and such noble animals understand well 
about good prognostics.” 

They heard the sound of Sintram’s spurs on 


372 Smtram anC> Ibis Companions 


the stone steps, and Skovmark’s joyous bark. 
At that instant the supposed corpse of old Biom 
sat up, looked around with rolling, staring eyes, 
and asked of the terrified retainers in a hollow 
voice: “Who conies there, ye people? who 
comes there ? I know it is my son. But who 
comes with him ? The answer to that bears the 
sword of decision in its mouth. For see, good 
people, Gotthard and Rudlieb have prayed 
much for me ; yet if the little Master comes 
with him I am lost in spite of them. ’ ’ 

“ Thou art not lost, my beloved father ! ” Sin- 
tram’s kind voice was heard to say, as he softly 
opened the door, and the bright red morning 
cloud floated in with him. 

Biorn joined his hands, cast a look of thank- 
fulness up to heaven, and said, smiling : “ Yes, 
praised be God ! it is the right companion ! It 
is sweet, gentle Death ! ” And then he made a 
sign to his son to approach, saying: “Come 
here, my deliverer; come, blessed of the Lord, 
that I may relate to thee all that has passed 
within me.” 

As Sin tram now sat close by his father’s 


Sintram anD 1bi6 Companions 373 


couch, all who were in the room perceived a 
remarkable and striking change. For old Biorn, 
whose whole countenance, and not his eyes 
alone, had been wont to have a fiery aspect, 
was now quite pale, almost like white marble ; 
while, on the other hand, the cheeks of the 
once deadly pale Sintram glowed with a bright 
bloom like that of early youth. It was caused 
by the morning cloud, which still shone upon 
him, whose presence in the room was rather 
felt than seen ; but it produced a gentle thrill 
in every heart. 

“ See, my son,” began the old man, softly and 
mildly, “ I have lain for a long time in a death- 
like sleep, and have known nothing of what 
was going on around me ; but within, — ah ! 
within, I have known but too much ! I thought 
that my soul would be destroyed by the eternal 
anguish ; and yet again I felt, with much 
greater horror, that my soul was eternal like 
that anguish. Beloved son, thy cheeks that 
glowed so brightly are beginning to grow pale 
at my words ; I refrain from more. But let me 
relate to you something more cheering. Far, 


374 Sintram anO Ibis Companions 


far away, I could see a bright, lofty church,, 
where Gotthard and Rudlieb Renz were kneel- 
ing and praying for me. Gotthard had grown 
very old, and looked almost like one of our 
mountains covered with snow, on which the 
sun in the lovely evening hours is shining ; 
and Rudlieb was also an elderly man, but very 
vigorous and very strong ; and they both, with 
all their strength and vigor, were calling upon 
God to aid me, their enemy. Then I heard a 
voice like that of an angel, saying : ‘ His son 

does the most for him ! He must this night 
wrestle with death and with the fallen one ! 
His victory will be victory, and his defeat will 
be defeat, for the old man and himself. ’ There- 
upon I awoke ; and I knew that all depended 
upon whom thou wouldst bring with thee. 
Thou hast conquered. Next to God, the praise 
be to thee ! ” 

“ Gotthard and Rudlieb have helped much,’^ 
replied Sintram ; “and, beloved father, so have 
the fervent prayers of the chaplain of Dron- 
theim. I felt, when struggling with tempta- 
tion and deadly fear, how the heavenly breath 


Sintram anD 1bi6 Companions 375 


of holy men floated round me and aided 
me.” 

“ I am most willing to believe that, my noble 
son, and every thing thou sayest to me,” an- 
swered the old man ; and at the same moment 
the chaplain also coming in, Biorn stretched 
out his hand towards him with a smile of peace 
and joy. And now all seemed to be surrounded 
with a bright circle of unity and blessedness. 
“But see,” said old Biom, “how the faithful 
Skovmark jumps upon me now, and tries to 
caress me. It is not long since he used always 
to howl with terror when he saw me.” 

“My dear lord,” said the chaplain, “there is 
a spirit dwelling in good beasts, though dreamy 
and unconscious.” 

As the day wore on, the stillness in the hall 
increased. The last hour of the aged knight 
was drawing near, but he met it calmly and 
fearlessly. The chaplain and Sintram prayed 
beside his couch. The retainers knelt devoutly 
around. At length the dying man said: “Is 
that the prayer-bell in Verena’s cloister ? ” Sin- 
tram’s looks said Yea, while warm tears fell on 


376 Sintram an& 1 bi 6 Companions 


the colorless cheeks of his father. A gleam 
shone in the old man’s eyes, the morning cloud 
stood close over him, and then the gleam, the 
morning cloud, and life with them, departed 
from him. 




CHAPTER XXIX. 

FEW days afterwards Sintram stood in the 



FA parlor of the convent, and waited with a 
beating heart for his mother to appear. He 
had seen her for the last time when, a slumber- 
ing child, he had been awakened by her warm' 
farewell kisses, and then had fallen asleep 
again, to wonder in his dreams what his mother 
had wanted with him, and to seek her in vain 
the next morning in the castle and in the gar- 
den. The chaplain was now at his side, rejoic- 
ing in the chastened rapture of the knight, 
whose fierce spirit had been softened, on whose 
cheeks a light reflection of that solemn morn- 
ing cloud yet lingered. 

The inner doors opened. In her white veil, 
stately and noble, the Lady Verena came for- 
ward, and with a heavenly smile she beckoned 


378 Sintram anD Ibis Companions 


her son to approach the grating. There could 
he no thought here of any passionate outbreak, 
whether of sorrow or of joy. The holy peace 
which had its abode within these walls would 
have found its way to a heart less tried and less 
purified than that which beat in Sintram’s 
bosom. Shedding some placid tears, the son 
knelt before his mother, kissed her flowing 
garments through the grating, and felt as if in 
paradise, where every wish and every care is 
hushed. “ Beloved mother,” said he, “let me 
become a holy man, as thou art a holy woman. 
Then I will betake myself to the cloister yonder ; 
and perhaps I might one day be deemed worthy 
to be thy confessor, if illness or the weakness 
of old age should keep the good chaplain with- 
in the castle of Drontheim. ” 

“That would be a sweet, quietly-happy life, 
my good child,” replied the Lady Verena ; “ but 
such is not thy vocation. Thou must remain a 
bold, powerful knight, and thou must spend the 
long life which is almost always granted to us 
children of the north, in succoring the weak, in 
keeping down the lawless, and in yet another 


Sintram anD l)t6 Companions 379 


more bright and honorable employment which 
I hitherto rather honor than know.” 

“ God’s will be done ! ” said the knight, and 
he rose up full of self-devotion and firmness. 

“That is my good son,” said the Tady Ver- 
ena. “ Ah ! how many sweet, calm joys spring 
up for us ! See, already is our longing desire 
of meeting again satisfied, and thou wilt never 
more be so entirely estranged from me. Every 
w^eek on this day thou wilt come back to me, 
and thou wilt relate what glorious deeds thou 
hast done, and take back with thee my advice 
and my blessing.” 

“ Am I not once more a good and happy 
child!” cried Sintram joyously; “only that 
the merciful God has given me, in addition, the 
strength of a man in body and spirit. Oh, how 
blessed is that son to whom it is allowed to 
gladden his mother’s heart with the blossoms 
and the fruit of his life I ” 

Thus he left the quiet cloister’s shade, joyful 
in spirit and richly laden with blessings, to en- 
ter on his noble career. He was not content 
with going about wherever there might be a 


38o Slntram anD Ibis Companions 


rightful cause to defend or evil to avert ; the gates 
of the now hospitable castle stood always open 
also to receive and shelter every stranger ; and 
old Rolf, who was almost grown young again at 
the sight of his lord’s excellence, was estab- 
lished as seneschal. The winter of Sintram’s 
life set in bright and glorious, and it was only 
at times that he would sigh within himself, and 
say, “ Ah, Montfaucon ! ah, Gabrielle ! if I could 
dare to hope that you have quite forgiven me ! ” 




CHAPTER XXX. 

HE spring had come in its brightness to the 



* northern lands when one morning Sin- 
tfam turned his horse homewards, after a suc- 
cessful encounter with one of the most formid- 
able disturbers of the peace of his neighbor- 
hood. His horsemen rode after him, singing as 
thej" went. As they drew near the castle they 
heard the sound of joyous notes wound on the 
horn. “ Some welcome visitor must have ar- 
rived,” said the knight; and he spurred his 
horse to a quicker pace over the dewy meadow. 
While still at some distance they descried old 
Rolf busily engaged in preparing a table for the 
morning meal under the trees in front of the 
castle gates. Erom all the turrets and battle- 
ments floated banners and flags in the fresh 
morning breeze ; esquires were running to and 


3 S 2 Slntram anD 1bi6 Companions 


fro in their gayest apparel. As soon as the 
good Rolf saw his master he clapped his hands 
joyfully over his gray head and hastened into 
the castle. Immediately the wide gates were 
thrown open ; and Sintram, as he entered, was 
met by Rolf, whose eyes were filled with tears 
of joy while he pointed towards three noble 
forms that were following him. 

Two men of high stature — one in extreme old 
age, the other gray-headed, and both remark- 
ably alike — were leading between them a fair 
young boy, in a page’s dress of blue velvet, 
richly embroidered with gold. The two old 
men wore the dark velvet dress of German 
burghers, and had massive gold chains and 
large shining medals hanging round their 
necks. 

Sintram had never before seen his honored 
guests, and yet he felt as if they were well 
known and valued friends. The very aged man 
reminded him of his dying father’s words about 
the snow-covered mountains lighted up by the 
evening sun ; and then he remembered, he 
could scarcely tell how, that he had heard Folko 


Slntram anO Ibis Companions 3S3 


say that one of the highest mountains of 
that sort in this southern land was called 
the St. Gotthard. And at the same time he 
knew that the old but yet vigorous man on the 
other side was named Rudlieb. But the boy 
who stood between them ; ah ! Sintram’s hu- 
mility dared scarcely form a hope as to who he 
might be, however much his features, so noble 
and soft, called up two highly honored images 
before his mind. 

Then the aged Gotthard Lenz, the king of old 
men, advanced with a solemn step, and said : 
“This is the noble boy Bngeltram of Mont- 
faucon, the only son of the great baron ; and 
his father and mother send him to you. Sir Sin- 
tram, knowing well your holy and glorious 
knightly career, that you may bring him up to 
all the honorable and valiant deeds of this 
northern land, andmay make of him a Christian 
knight, like yourself.” 

Sintram threw himself from his horse. Engel- 
tram of Montfaucon held the stirrup gracefully 
for him, checking the retainers, who pressed 
forward, with these words : “I am the noblest 


384 Sintram ant) Ibis Companions 


born esquire of this knight, and the service 
nearest to his person belongs to me.” 

Sintram knelt in silent prayer on the tuif; 
then lifting up in his arms, towards the rising 
sun, the image of Folko and Gabrielle, he cried : 
“ With the help of God, my Bhgeltram, thou 
wilt become as glorious as that sun, and thy 
course will be like his ! ” 

And old Rolf exclaimed, as he wept for joy : 
‘‘Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in 
peace.” 

Gotthard Benz and Rudlieb were pressed to 
Sintram’s heart; the chaplain of Drontheim, 
who just then came from Verena’s cloister to 
bring a joyful greeting to her brave son, 
stretched out his hands to bless them all. 

END. 



NOV 16 1948 













